Rex  £  Beach 


PARDNERS 


Pardners 


By 
Rex  E.  Beach 


NEW  YORK 

DOUBLEDAY,  PAGE  &  COMPANY 
MCMIX 


Copyright,  1905,  by 

McciuRE,  PHILLIPS  &  co. 


Copyright,  1904,  1905,  by  The  S.  S.  MoClure  Company.  Copyright,  1904,  by 
Frank  Leslie  Publishing  Co.  Copyright,  1905,  by  The  Ridgway-Thayer 
Company. 


CONTENTS 


PA-GE 


PARDNEES   ........        1 

THE  MULE  DRIVER  AND  THE  GARRULOUS  MUTE  45 
THE  COLONEL  AND  THE  HORSE-THIEF  .  .  71 

THE  THAW  AT  SLISCO'S 93 

BITTER  ROOT  BILLINGS,  ARBITER  .  .  .  117 
THE  SHYNESS  OF  SHORTY  .  .  .  *  .  145 
THE  TEST  .  ...  .  ||  .  .169 
NORTH  OF  FIFTY-THREE  .  .  .  .  .197 

WHERE     NORTHERN     LIGHTS     COME     DOWN 

O'  NIGHTS    .......    223 

THE  SCOURGE      ...  247 


M18923 


PARDNERS 


•    - 


PARDNERS 

"  Most  all  the  old  quotations  need  fixing,"  said 
Joyce  in  tones  forbidding  dispute.  "For  in 
stance,  the  guy  that  alluded  to  marriages  germ 
inating  in  heaven  certainly  got  off  on  the  wrong 
foot.  He  meant  pardnerships.  The  same  works 
ain't  got  capacity  for  both,  no  more'n  you  can 
build  a  split-second  stop-watch  in  a  stone 
quarry.  No,  sir!  A  true  pardnership  is  the 
sanctifiedest  relation  that  grows,  is,  and  has  its 
beans,  while  any  two  folks  of  opposite  sect  can 
marry  and  peg  the  game  out  some  way.  Of 
course,  all  pardnerships  ain't  divine.  To  every 
one  that's  heaven  borned  there's  a  thousand 
made  in  — .  There  goes  them  cussed  dogs 
again!" 

He  dove  abruptly  at  the  tent  flap,  disap 
pearing  like  a  palmed  coin,  while  our  canvas 


4  PARDNERS 

structure  reeled  drunkenly  at  his  impact.  The 
sounds  of  strife  without  rose  shrilly  into  blend 
ed  agony,  and  the  yelps  of  Keno  melted  away 
down  the  gulch  in  a  rapid  and  rabid  dim 
inuendo. 

Inasmuch  as  I  had  just  packed  out  from 
camp  in  a  loose  pair  of  rubber  boots,  and  was 
nursing  two  gall  blisters,  I  did  not  feel  called 
upon  to  emulate  this  energy  of  arbitration, 
particularly  in  bare  feet. 

"That  black  malamoot  is  a  walking  dele 
gate  for  strife,"  he  remarked,  returning. "  Some 
time  I'll  lose  my  temper  —  and  that's  the  kind 
of  pardners  me  and  Justus  Morrow  was." 

Never  more  do  I  interrupt  the  allegory  of 
my  mate,  no  matter  how  startling  its  structure. 
He  adventures  orally  when  and  in  the  manner 
the  spirit  calls,  without  rote,  form,  or  tone  pro 
duction.  Therefore  I  kicked  my  blistered  heels 
in  the  air  and  grunted  aimless  encouragement. 

"I  was  prospectin'  a  claim  on  Caribou 
Creek,  and  had  her  punched  as  full  of  holes  as 
a  sponge  cake,  when  the  necessity  of  a  change 


Pardners  5 

appealed  to  me.  I  was  out  of  everything  more 
nourishing  than  hope  and  one  slab  of  pay- 
streaked  bacon,  when  two  tenderf eet '  mushed ' 
up  the  gulch,  and  invited  themselves  into  my 
.  cabin  to  watch  me  pan.  It's  the  simplest  thing 
known  to  science  to  salt  a  tenderfoot,  so  I 
didn't  have  no  trouble  in  selling  out  for  three 
thousand  dollars. 

"You  see,  they  couldn't  kick,  'cause  some 
of  us  '  old  timers '  was  bound  to  get  their  money 
anyhow —  just  a  question  of  time;  and  their 
inexperience  was  cheap  at  the  price.  Also,  they 
was  real  nice  boys,  and  I  hated  to  see  'em  fall 
amongst  them  crooks  at  Dawson.  It  was  a 
short-horned  triumph,  though.  Like  the  Dead 
Sea  biscuits  of  Scripture,  it  turned  to  ashes  in 
my  mouth.  It  wasn't  three  days  later  that  they 
struck  it;  right  in  my  last  shaft,  within  a  foot 
of  where  I  quit  diggin'.  They  rocked  out  fifty 
ounces  first  day.  When  the  news  filtered  to  me, 
of  course,  I  never  made  no  holler.  I  couldn't  — 
that  is,  honestly  —  but  I  bought  a  six  hundred 
dollar  grub  stake,  loaded  it  aboard  a  dory, 


6  PARDNERS 

and  —  having  instructed  the  trader  regarding 
the  disposition  of  my  mortal,  drunken  remains, 
I  fanned  through  that  camp  like  a  prairie  fire 
shot  in  the  sirloin  with  a  hot  wind.  " 

"  Of  course,  it  wasn't  such  a  big  spree;  noth 
ing  gaudy  or  Swedelike;  but  them  that  should 
know,  claimed  it  was  a  model  of  refinement. 
Yes,  I  have  got  many  encomiums  on  its  gen 
eral  proportions  and  artistic  finish.  One  hun 
dred  dollars  an  hour  for  twenty-four  hours, 
all  in  red  licker,  confined  to  and  in  me  and 
my  choicest  sympathizers.  I  reckon  all  our 
booze  combined  would  have  made  a  fair  sluice- 
head.  Anyhow,  I  woke  up  considerable  farther 
down  the  dim  vistas  of  time  and  about  the 
same  distance  down  the  Yukon,  in  the  bottom 
of  my  dory,  seekin'  new  fields  at  six  miles  an 
hour.  The  trader  had  follered  my  last  will  and 
testament  scrupulous,  even  to  coverin'  up  my 
legs. 

"That's  how  I  drifted  into  Rampart  City, 
and  Justus  Morrow. 

"This  here  town  was  the  same  as  any  new 


Pardners  7 

camp;  a  mile  long  and  eighteen  inches  wide, 
consisting  of  saloons,  dance-halls,  saloons, 
trading-posts,  saloons,  places  to  get  licker,  and 
saloons.  Might  not  have  been  so  many  dance- 
halls  and  trading-posts  as  I've  mentioned,  and 
a  few  more  saloons. 

"I  dropped  into  a  joint  called  The  Recep 
tion,  and  who'd  I  see  playing  'bank'  but 
'Single  Out'  Wilmer,  the  worst  gambler  on 
the  river.  Mounted  police  had  him  on  the 
woodpile  in  Dawson,  then  tied  a  can  on  him. 
At  the  same  table  was  a  nice,  tender  Phila 
delphia  squab,  'bout  fryin'  size,  and  while  I 
was  watching,  Wilmer  pulls  down  a  bet  be 
longing  to  it.  That's  an  old  game. 

'"Pardon  me,'  says  the  broiler;  'you  have 
my  checks.' 

" '  What  ? '  growls  '  Single  Out ; '  '  I  knowed 
this  game  before  you  quit  nursin',  Bright  Eyes. 
I  can  protect  my  own  bets.' 

'"That's  right,'  chimes  the  dealer,  who  I 
seen  was  'Curly'  Budd,  Wilmer's  pardner. 

" '  Lord ! '  thinks  I, '  there's  a  pair  to  draw  to/ 


8  PARDNERS 

"'Do  you  really  think  you  had  ought  to 
play  this?  It's  a  man's  game/  says  Wilmer 
nasty. 

"I  expected  to  see  the  youngster  dog  it. 
Nothin'  of  the  kind. 

'That's  my  bet!'  he  says  again,  and  I 
noticed  something  dry  in  his  voice,  like  the 
rustle  of  silk. 

"Single  Out  just  looks  black  and  snarls  at 
the  dealer. 

"'Turn  the  cards!' 

"'Oh,  very  well,'  says  the  chechako,  talk 
ing  like  a  little  girl. 

"Somebody  snickered  and,  thinks  I  'there's 
sprightly  doin's  hereabouts.  I'll  tarry  a  while 
and  see  'em  singe  the  fowl.  I  like  the  smell  of 
burning  pin  feathers;  it  clears  my  head.' 

"Over  in  the  far  corner  was  another  animal 
in  knee  panties,  riggin'  up  one  of  these  flash 
light,  snappy-shot,  photograft  layouts.  I  found 
afterwards  that  he  done  it  for  a  living;  didn't 
work  none,  just  strayed  around  as  co-respond 
ent  for  an  English  newspaper  syndicate,  tak- 


Pardners  9 

ing  pictures  and  writing  story  things.  I  didn't 
pay  much  attention  to  him  hiding  under  his 
black  cloth,  'cause  the  faro-table  was  full  of 
bets,  and  it's  hard  to  follow  the  play.  Well, 
bye-and-bye  Wilmer  shifted  another  stack  be 
longing  to  the  Easterner, 

"The  lad  never  begged  his  pardon  nor 
nothin'.  His  fist  just  shot  out  and  landed  on 
the  nigh  corner  of  Wilmer's  jaw,  clean  and 
fair,  and  'Single  Out'  done  as  pretty  a  head- 
spin  as  I  ever  see  —  considering  that  it  was 
executed  in  a  cuspidore.  'Twas  my  first  in 
sight  into  the  amenities  of  football.  I'd  like 
to  see  a  whole  game  of  it.  They  say  it  lasts  an 
hour  and  a  half.  Of  all  the  cordial,  why-how- 
do-you-do  mule  kicks  handed  down  in  rhyme 
and  story,  that  wallop  was  the  adopted  daddy. 

"  When  he  struck,  I  took  the  end  of  the  bar 
like  a  steeplechaser,  for  I  seen  'Curly'  grab 
at  the  drawer,  and  I  have  aversions  to  wit 
nessing  gun  plays  from  the  front  end.  The 
tenderfoot  riz  up  in  his  chair,  and  snatchin' 
a  stack  of  reds  in  his  off  mit,  dashed  'em  into 


10  PARDNERS 

'Curly's'  face  just  as  he  pulled  trigger.  It 
spoiled  his  aim,  and  the  boy  was  on  to  him 
like  a  mountain  lion,  follerin'  over  the  table, 
along  the  line  of  least  resistance. 

"It  was  like  takin'  a  candy  sucker  from  a 
baby.  'Curly'  let  go  of  that  'six'  like  he  was 
plumb  tired  of  it,  and  the  kid  welted  him  over 
the  ear  just  oncet.  Then  he  turned  on  the  room; 
and  right  there  my  heart  went  out  to  him.  He 
took  in  the  line  up  at  a  sweep  of  his  lamps : 

' '  Any  of  you  gentlemen  got  ideas  on  the 
subject?'  he  says,  and  his  eyes  danced  like 
waves  in  the  sunshine. 

"It  was  all  that  finished  and  genteel  that 
I  speaks  up  without  thinkin',  'You  for  me 
pardner!' 

"Just  as  I  said  it,  there  come  a  swish  and 
flash  as  if  a  kag  of  black  powder  had  changed 
its  state  of  bein'.  I  s'pose  everybody  yelled 
and  dodged  except  the  picture  man.  He  says, 
'Thank  you,  gents;  very  pretty  tableau.' 

"It  was  the  first  flash-light  I  ever  see,  and 
all  I  recall  now  is  a  panorama  of  starin'  eyeballs 


Pardners  11 

and  gaping  mouths.  When  it  seen  it  wasn't  tor 
pedoed,  the  population  begin  crawlin'  out  from 
under  chairs  and  tables.  Men  hopped  out  like 
toads  in  a  rain. 

"I  crossed  the  boy's  trail  later  that  eve 
ning;  found  him  watchin'  a  dance  at  the  Gold 
Belt.  The  photografter  was  there,  too,  and 
when  he'd  got  his  dog-house  fixed,  he  says: 
"Everybody  take  pardners,  and  whoop 
her  up.  I  want  this  picture  for  the  Weekly. 
Get  busy,  you,  there!'  We  all  joined  in  to  help 
things;  the  orchestra  hit  the  rough  spots,  and 
we  went  highf  alutin'  down  the  centre,  to  show 
the  English  race  how  our  joy  pained  us,  and 
that  life  in  the  Klondyke  had  the  Newport 
whirl,  looking  like  society  in  a  Siwash  village. 
He  got  another  good  picture. 

"Inside  of  a  week,  Morrow  and  I  had  joined 
up.  We  leased  a  claim  and  had  our  cabin  done, 
waiting  for  snow  to  fall  so's  to  sled  our  grub 
out  to  the  creek.  He  took  to  me  like  I  did  to 
him,  and  he  was  an  educated  lad,  too.  Some 
how,  though,  it  hadn't  gone  to  his  head,  leav- 


12  PARDNERS 

ing  his  hands  useless,  like  knowledge  usually 
does. 

"One  day,  just  before  the  last  boat  pulled 
down  river,  Mr.  Struthers,  the  picture  man, 
come  to  us  —  R.  Alonzo  Struthers,  of  London 
and  'Frisco,  he  was  —  and  showin'  us  a  pic 
ture,  he  says : 

"Ain't  that  great?  Sunday  supplements! 
Full  page!  Big  display!  eh  ?3 

"It  sure  was.  'Bout  9x9,  and  showing 
every  detail  of  the  Reception  saloon.  There 
was  'Single  Out'  analyzing  the  cuspidore  and 
'Curly'  dozin',  as  contorted  and  well-done 
as  a  pretzel.  There  was  the  crowd  hiding  in  the 
corners,  and  behind  the  faro-table  stood  the  kid, 
one  hand  among  the  scattered  chips  and  cards, 
the  other  dominating  the  layout  with  '  CurleyV 
'six.'  It  couldn't  have  looked  more  natural  if 
we'd  posed  for  it.  It  was  a  bully  likeness,  I 
thought,  too,  till  I  seen  myself  glaring  over  the 
bar.  All  that  showed  of  William  P.  Joyce, 
bachelor  of  some  arts  and  plenty  of  science, 
late  of  Dawson,  was  the  white  of  his  eyes. 


Pardners  13 

And  talkin'  of  white  —  say,  I  looked  like  I  had 
washing  hung  out.  Seemed  like  the  draught 
had  riz  my  hair  up,  too. 

1 '  Nothing  like  it  ever  seen,'  continues 
Struthers.  '  I'll  call  it  "  The  Winning  Card, " 
or  "  At  Bay,"  or  something  like  that.  Feature 
it  as  a  typical  Klondyke  card  game.  I'll  give 
you  a  two-page  write-up.  Why,  it's  the  greatest 
thing  I  ever  did!' 

"'I'm  sorry,'  says  Morrow,  thoughtful, 
'but  you  musn't  run  it.' 

"'What!  says  he,  and  I  thinks,  'Oh,  Lord! 
There  goes  my  only  show  to  get  perpetufied  in 
ink.' 

"I  can't  let  you  use  it.  My  wife  might  see 
it.' 

"'Your  wife!'  says  I.  'Are  you  married, 
pardner  ? ' 

"'Yes,  I'm  married,'  and  his  voice  sounded 
queer. '  I've  got  a  boy  —  too,  see.' 

"  He  took  a  locket  from  his  flannel  shirt  and 
opened  it.  A  curly-headed,  dimpled  little 
youngster  laughed  out  at  me. 


14  PARDNERS 

"'Well,  I'm  d  --  !'  and  then  I  took  off  my 
hat,  for  in  the  other  side  was  a  woman  —  and, 
gentlemen,  she  was  a  woman !  When  I  seen  her 
it  made  me  feel  blushy  and  ashamed.  Gee! 
She  was  a  stunner.  I  just  stared  at  her  till 
Struthers  looked  over  my  shoulder,  and  says, 
excited : 

'"  Why,  it's  Olive  Troop,  the  singer!' 

"'Not  any  more,'  says  Morrow,  smiling. 

"'Oh!  So  you're  the  fellow  she  gave  up  her 
art  for  ?  I  knew  her  on  the  stage.' 

"Something  way  deep  down  in  the  man 
grated  on  me,  but  the  kid  was  lookin'  at  the 
picture  and  never  noticed,  while  hunger  peered 
from  his  face. 

"'You  can't  blame  me,'  he  says  finally. 
*  She'd  worry  to  death  if  she  saw  that  picture. 
The  likeness  is  too  good.  You  might  substi 
tute  another  face  on  my  shoulders;  that  can  be 
done,  can't  it  ? ' 

"'Why,  sure;  dead  easy,  but  I'll  not  run  it 
at  all  if  you  feel  that  way,'  says  the  artist. 

"Then,    Morrow   resumes,    'You'll   be   in 


Pardners  15 

Denver  this  fall,  Struthers,  eh  ?  Well,  I  want 
you  to  take  a  letter  to  her.  She'll  be  glad  to  see 
an  old  friend  like  you,  and  to  hear  from  me. 
Tell  her  I'm  well  and  happy,  and  that  I'll  make 
a  fortune,  sure.  Tell  her,  too,  that  there  won't 
be  any  mail  out  of  here  till  spring/ 

"Now,  I  don't  claim  no  second  sight  in  the 
matter  of  female  features:  I  ain't  had  no 
coachin';  not  even  as  much  as  the  ordinary, 
being  raised  on  a  bottle,  but  I've  studied  the 
ornery  imprints  of  men's  thoughts,  over  green 
tables  and  gun  bar'ls,  till  I  can  about  guess 
whether  they've  drawed  four  aces  or  an  in 
vite  to  a  funeral.  I  got  another  flash  from  that 
man  I  didn't  like,  though  his  words  were 
hearty.  He  left,  soon  after,  on  the  last  boat. 

"Soon  as  ever  the  ground  froze  we  began 
to  sink.  In  those  days  steam  thawers  wasn't 
dreamed  of,  so  we  slid  wood  down  from  the 
hills,  and  burned  the  ground  with  fires.  It's 
slow  work,  and  we  didn't  catch  bed-rock  till 
December,  but  when  we  did  we  struck  it 
right.  Four  feet  of  ten-cent  dirt  was  what  she 


16  PARDNERS 

averaged.  Big?  Well,  I  wonder!  It  near  drove 
Morrow  crazy. 

"'Billy,  old  boy,  this  means  I'll  see  her  next 
summer ! ' 

"Whenever  he  mentioned  her  name,  he 
spoke  like  a  man  in  church  or  out  of  breath. 
Somehow  it  made  me  feel  like  takin'  off  my 
cap  —  forty  below  at  that,  and  my  ears  freeze 
terrible  willing  since  that  winter  on  the  Por 
cupine. 

"That  evening,  when  I  wasn't  looking,  he 
sneaked  the  locket  out  of  his  shirt  and  stared 
at  it,  famished.  Then  he  kissed  it,  if  you  might 
rehabilitate  such  a  scandalous,  hold-fast-for- 
the-corner  performance  by  that  name. 

"I  must  let  her  know  right  away,'  says  he. 
'  How  can  I  do  it  ? ' 

'We  can  hire  a  messenger,  and  send  him 
to  Dawson,'  says  I.  'Everybody  in  camp  will 
pay  five  dollars  a  letter,  and  he  can  bring  back 
the  outside  mail.  They  have  monthly  service 
from  there  to  the  coast.  He'll  make  the  trip  in 
ninety  days,  so  you'll  get  news  from  home  by 


Pardners  17 

the  first  of  March.  Windy  Jim  will  go.  He'd 
leave  a  good  job  and  a  warm  camp  any  time 
to  hit  the  trail.  Just  hitch  up  the  dogs,  crack  a 
whip,  and  yell  'Mush  on!'  and  he'll  get  the 
snow-shoe  itch,  and  water  at  the  mouth  for 
hardship.' 

"Not  being  house-broke  and  tame  myself, 
I  ain't  authority  on  the  joys  of  getting  mail 
from  home,  but,  next  to  it,  I  judge,  comes 
writing  to  your  family.  Anyhow,  the  boy  shined 
up  like  new  money,  and  there  was  from  one  to 
four  million  pages  in  his  hurried  note.  I  don't 
mean  to  say  that  he  was  grouchy  at  any  time. 
No,  sir!  He  was  the  nickel-plated  sunbeam  of 
the  whole  creek.  Why,  I've  knowed  him  to  do 
the  cooking  for  two  weeks  at  a  stretch,  and 
never  kick — and  wash  the  dishes,  too, — which 
last,  as  anybody  knows,  is  crucifyin'er  than 
that  smelter  test  of  the  three  Jews  in  the  Scrip 
ture.  Underneath  all  of  his  sunshine,  though,  I 
saw  hints  of  an  awful,  aching,  devilish,  starva 
tion.  It  made  me  near  hate  the  woman  that 
caused  it. 


18  PARDNERS 

"  He  was  a  wise  one,  too.  I've  seen  him  stir 
ring  dog-feed  with  one  hand  and  spouting 
*  Gray's  Elegy '  with  the  other.  I  picked  up  a 
heap  of  knowledge  from  him,  for  he  had 
American  history  pat.  One  story  I  liked  par 
ticular  was  concerning  the  origin  of  placer 
mining  in  this  country,  about  a  Greaser,  Jason 
Somebody,  who  got  the  gold  fever  and  grub 
staked  a  mob  he  called  the  Augerknots  — 
carpenters,  I  judge,  from  the  mess  they  made 
of  it.  They  chartered  a  schooner  and  pros 
pected  along  Asy  Miner,  wherever  that  is.  I 
never  seen  any  boys  from  there,  but  the 
formation  was  wrong,  like  Texas,  probably, 
'cause  they  sort  of  drifted  into  the  sheep  busi 
ness.  Of  course,  that  was  a  long  ways  back, 
before  the  '49  rush,  but  the  way  he  told  it  was 
great.  * 

"Well,  two  weeks  after  Windy  left  we  work 
ed  out  of  that  rich  spot  and  drifted  into  barren 
ground.  Instead  of  a  fortune,  we'd  sunk  onto 
the  only  yellow  spot  in  the  whole  claim.  We 
cross-cut  in  three  places,  and  never  raised  a 


Pardners  19 

colour,  but  we  kept  gophering  around  till 
March,  in  hopes. 

" '  Why  did  I  write  that  letter  ? '  he  asked  one 
day.  '  I'd  give  anything  to  stop  it  before  it  gets 
out.  Think  of  her  disappointment  when  she 
hears  I'm  broke!' 

"'Nobody  can't  look  into  the  ground,'  says 
I.  'I  don't  mind  losin'  out  myself,  for  I've 
done  it  for  twenty  years  and  I  sort  of  like  it 
now,  but  I'm  sorry  for  the  girl.' 

"It  means  another  whole  season,'  he  says. 
'I  wanted  to  see  them  this  summer,  or  bring 
them  in  next  fall.' 

"Sufferin'  sluice-boxes!  Are  you  plumb 
daffy  ?  Bring  a  woman  into  the  Yukon  —  and 
a  little  baby.' 

"She'd  follow  me  anywhere.  She's  awful 
proud;  proud  as  a  Kentucky  girl  can  be,  and 
those  people  would  make  your  uncle  Lucifer 
look  like  a  cringing  cripple,  but  she'd  live  in  an 
Indian  hut  with  me.' 

"'Sure!  And  follerin'  out  the  simile,  nobody 
but  a  Siwash  would  let  her.  If  she  don't  like 


20  PARDNERS 

some  other  feller  better  while   you're  gone, 
what're  you  scared  about  ?  * 

"He  never  answered;  just  looked  at  me 
pityfyin',  as  much  as  to  say,  'Well,  you  poor, 
drivelin,  old  polyp ! ' 

"One  day  Denny,  the  squaw-man,  drove 
up  the  creek: 

'Windy  Jim  is  back  with  the  mail,'  says 
he,  and  we  hit  for  camp  on  the  run.  Only 
fifteen  mile,  she  is,  but  I  was  all  in  when  we 
got  there,  keepin'  up  with  Justus.  His  eyes 
outshone  the  snow -glitter  and  he  sang  —  all 
the  time  he  wasn't  roasting  me  for  being  so 
slow  —  claimed  I  was  active  as  a  toad-stool. 
A  man  ain't  got  no  license  to  excite  hisself 
unless  he's  struck  pay  dirt  —  or  got  a  divorce. 

" '  Gi  'me  my  mail,  quick ! '  he  says  to  Windy, 
who  had  tinkered  up  a  one-night  stand  post- 
office  and  dealt  out  letters,  at  five  dollars  per 
let.' 

'"Nothing  doing,'  says  Windy. 

'"Oh,  yes  there  is,'  he  replies,  still  smil 
ing;  'she  writes  me  every  week.' 


Pardners  21 

"'I  got  all  there  was  at  Dawson,'  Windy 
give  back,  'and  there  ain't  a  thing  for  you!' 

"I  consider  the  tragedy  of  this  north  coun 
try  lies  in  its  mail  service.  Uncle  Sam  insti 
tutes  rural  deliveries,  so  the  bolomen  can 
register  poisoned  arrowheads  to  the  Igorrotes 
in  exchange  for  recipes  to  make  roulade  of 
naval  officer,  but  his  American  miners  in 
Alaska  go  shy  on  home  news  for  eight  months 
every  year. 

"That  was  the  last  mail  we  had  till  June. 

"When  the  river  broke  we  cleaned  up  one 
hundred  and  eighty-seven  dollars'  worth  of 
lovely,  yellow  dust,  and  seven  hundred  and 
thirty-five  dollars  in  beautiful  yellow  bills  from 
the  post.  ^ 

"  The  first  boat  down  from  Dawson  brought 
mail,  and  I  stood  beside  him  when  he  got  his. 
He  shook  so  he  held  on  to  the  purser's  window. 
Instead  of  a  stack  of  squares  overrun  with  fe 
male  chiropody,  there  was  only  one  for  him  — 
a  long,  hungry  sport,  with  indications  of  a  law 
firm  in  the  northwest  corner.  It  charmed  him 


22  PARDNERS 

like  a  rattler.  He  seemed  scared  to  open  it.  Two 
or  three  times  he  tried  and  stopped. 

" '  They're  dead,'  thinks  I;  and,  sure  enough, 
when  he'd  looked,  I  knew  it  was  so,  and  felt 
for  his  hand.  Sympathy  don't  travel  by  word 
of  mouth  between  pardners.  It's  the  grip  of  the 
hand  or  the  look  of  the  eye. 

"'What  cause  ?'  says  I. 

"  He  turned,  and  s'help  me,  I  never  want  to 
see  the  like  again.  His  face  was  plumb  grey  and 
dead,  like  wet  ashes,  while  his  eyes  scorched 
through,  all  dry  and  hot.  Lines  was  sinkin' 
into  it  as  I  looked. 

"'It's  worse,'  says  he,  'unless  it's  a  joke.' 
He  handed  me  the  dope :  '  In  re  Olive  Troop 
Morrow  vs.  Justus  Morrow,'  and  a  letter  stat 
ing  that  out  of  regard  for  her  feelings,  and 
bein'  a  gentleman,  he  wasn't  expected  to 
cause  a  scandal,  but  to  let  her  get  the  divorce 
by  default.  No  explanation;  no  word  from  her; 
nothing. 

"God  knows  what  that  boy  suffered  the 
next  few  weeks,  but  he  fought  it  out  alone. 


Pardners  23 

She  was  proud,  but  he  was  prouder.  Her  si 
lence  hurt  him  the  worst,  of  course;  but  what 
could  he  do  ?  Go  to  her  ?  Fine !  Both  of  us  broke 
and  in  debt.  Also,  there's  such  a  thing  as  dig- 
gin'  deep  enough  to  scrape  the  varnish  off  of  a 
man's  self-respect,  leavin'  it  raw  and  shrink 
ing.  No !  He  done  like  you  or  me  —  let  her  have 
her  way.  He  took  off  the  locket  and  hid  it, 
and  I  never  heard  her  name  mentioned  for  a 
year. 

"  I'd  been  up  creek  for  a  whip-saw  one  day, 
and  as  I  came  back  I  heard  voices  in  the  cabin. 
'Some  musher  out  from  town,'  thinks  I,  till 
something  in  their  tones  made  me  stop  in  my 
tracks. 

"I  could  hear  the  boy's  voice,  hoarse  and 
throbbing,  as  though  he  dragged  words  out 
bleeding,  then  I  heard  the  other  one  laugh  — 
a  nasty,  sneering  laugh  that  ended  in  a  chok 
ing  rattle,  like  a  noose  had  tightened  on  his 
throat. 

"I  jumped  for  the  door,  and  rounding  the 
corner,  something  near  took  me  off  my  feet; 


24  PARDNERS 

something  that  shot  through  the  air,  all  pretty 
and  knickerbockery,  with  a  two-faced  cap, 
and  nice  brown  leggin's.  Also,  a  little  camera 
was  harnessed  to  it  by  tugs.  It  arose,  displaying 
the  face  of  R.  Alonzo  Struthers,  black  and 
swollen,  with  chips  stickin'  in  it  where  he'd 
hit  the  woodpile.  He  glared  at  Morrow,  and  his 
lips  foamed  like  a  crab  out  of  water. 

"'I  hope  I'm  not  intrudin',  I  ventures. 

"When  the  kid  seen  me,  he  says,  soft  and 
weak,  like  something  ailed  his  palate: 

"'Don't  let  me  kill  him,  Billy.' 

"Struthers  spit,  and  picked  splinters  forth 
from  his  complexion. 

"'I  told  you  for  your  own  good.  It's  com 
mon  gossip,'  says  he.  *  Everybody  is  laughing 
at  you,  an  — ' 

"Then  I  done  a  leap  for  life  for  the  kid, 
'cause  the  murder  light  blazed  up  white  in  his 
face,  and  he  moved  at  the  man  like  he  had 
something  serious  in  view. 

"'Run,  you  idiot!'  I  yells  to  Struthers  as 
I  jammed  the  youngster  back  into  the  cabin. 


Pardners  25 

All  of  a  sudden  the  gas  went  out  of  him  and 
he  broke,  hanging  to  me  like  a  baby. 

"'It  can't  be,'  he  whispers.  'It  can't  be.' 
He  thro  wed  hisself  on  to  a  goods'  box,  and 
buried  his  face  in  his  hands.  It  gripes  me 
to  hear  a  man  cry,  so  I  went  to  the  creek  for  a 
pail  of  water. 

"I  never  heard  what  Struthers  said,  but 
it  don't  take  no  Nick  Carter  to  guess. 

"That  was  the  fall  of  the  Fryin'  Pan  strike 
—  do  you  mind  it  ?  Shakespeare  George  put 
us  on,  so  me  and  the  kid  got  in  ahead  of  the 
stampede.  We  located  one  and  two  above  dis 
covery,  and  by  Christmas  we  had  a  streak 
uncovered  that  was  all  gold.  She  was  coarse, 
and  we  averaged  six  ounces  a  day  in  pick-ups. 
Man,  that  was  ground!  I've  flashed  my  candle 
along  the  drift  face,  where  it  looked  like  gold 
had  been  shot  in  with  a  scatter-gun. 

"We  was  cleaned  up  and  had  our  'pokes' 
at  the  post  when  the  first  boat  from  Dawson 
smoked  'round  the  bend. 

"Now,  in  them  days,  a  man's  averdupoise 


26  PARDNERS 

was  his  abstract  of  title.  There  was  nothing 
said  about  records  and  patentees  as  long  as 
you  worked  your  ground;  but,  likewise,  when 
you  didn't  work  it,  somebody  else  usually  did. 
We  had  a  thousand  feet  of  as  good  dirt  as  ever 
laid  out  in  the  rain ;  but  there  was  men  around 
drulin'  to  snipe  it,  and  I  knowed  it  was  risky  to 
leave.  However,  I  saw  what  was  gnawin'  at 
the  boy,  and  if  ever  a  man  needed  a  friend  and 
criminal  lawyer,  that  was  the  time.  According 
to  the  zodiac,  certain  persons,  to  the  complain 
ant  unknown,  had  a  mess  of  trouble  comin'  up 
and  I  wanted  to  have  the  bail  money  handy. 

"We  jumped  camp  together.  I  made  oration 
to  the  general  gnat-bitten  populace,  from  the 
gang-plank,  to  the  effect  that  one  William  P. 
Joyce,  trap,  crap,  and  snap  shooter  was  due 
to  happen  back  casual  most  any  time,  and  any 
lady  or  gent  desirous  of  witnessin',  at  first 
hand,  a  shutzenfest  with  live  targets,  could  be 
gratified  by  infestin'  in  person  or  by  proxy, 
the  lands,  tenements,  and  hereditaments  of  me 
and  the  kid. 


Pardners  %7 

"Well,  we  hit  the  Seattle  docks  at  a  canter, 
him  headed  for  the  postal  telegraph,  me  for 
a  fruit-stand.  I  bought  a  dollar's  worth  of 
everything,  from  cracker- jack  to  cantaloupe, 
reserving  the  local  option  of  eatin'  it  there  in 
whole  or  in  part,  and  returning  for  more. 
First  fresh  fruit  in  three  years.  I  reckon  my 
proudest  hour  come  when  I  found,  beyond 
peradventure,  that  I  hadn't  forgot  the  *  Georgy 
Grind.'  What?  *  Georgy  Grind'  consists  of 
feeding  rough-hewed  slabs  of  watermelon  into 
your  sou'  sou'east  corner,  and  squirting  a 
stream  of  seeds  out  from  the  other  cardinal 
points,  without  stopping  or  strangling. 

"I  et  and  et,  and  then  wallered  up  to  the 
hotel,  sweatin'  a  different  kind  of  fruit  juice 
from  every  pore.  Not  wishing  to  play  any 
favourites,  I'd  picked  up  a  basket  of  tomatoes, 
a  gunny-sack  of  pineapples,  and  a  peck  of 
green  plums  on  the  way.  Them  plums  done 
the  business.  I'd  orter  let  bad  enough  alone. 
They  was  non-union,  and  I  begin  having 
trouble  with  my  inside  help.  Morrow  turned 


28  PARDNERS 

in  a  hurry-up  call  for  the  Red  Cross,  two  medi 
cal  colleges,  and  the  Society  of  Psycolic  Re 
search.  Between  'em  they  diagnosed  me  as  con 
taining  everything  from  'housemaid's  knee'  to 
homesickness  of  the  vital  organs,  but  I  know. 
I  swallered  a  plum  pit,  and  it  sprouted. 

"Next  day,  when  I  come  out  of  it,  Justus 
had  heard  from  Denver.  His  wife  had  been 
gone  a  year,  destination  unknown.  Somebody 
thought  she  went  to  California,  so,  two  days 
later,  we  registered  at  the  Palace,  and  the 
'Frisco  police  begin  dreaming  of  five  thousand 
dollar  rewards. 

"It  was  no  use,  though.  One  day  I  met 
Struthers  on  Market  Street,  and  he  was  scared 
stiff  to  hear  that  Morrow  was  in  town.  It  seems 
he  was  night  editor  of  one  of  the  big  dailies. 

" '  Do  you  know  where  the  girl  is  ?'  says  I. 

"'Yes,  she's  in  New  York,'  he  answers, 
looking  queer,  so  I  hurried  back  to  the  hotel. 

"As  I  was  explaining  to  Morrow,  a  woman 
passed  us  in  the  hall  with  a  little  boy.  In  the 
dimness,  the  lad  mistook  Justus. 


Pardners  29 

"'Oh,  papa,  papa!'  he  yells,  and  grabs  him 
by  the  knees,  laughing  and  kicking. 

" ' Ah-h ! '  my  pardner  sighs, hoarse  as  a  raven, 
and  quicker 'n  light  he  snatched  the  little  shaver 
to  him,  then  seeing  his  mistake,  dropped  him 
rough.  His  face  went  grey  again,  and  he  got 
wabbly  at  the  hinges,  so  I  helped  him  into  the 
parlour.  He  had  that  hungry,  Yukon  look,  and 
breathed  like  he  was  wounded. 

"'  You  come  with  me,'  says  I,  'and  get  your 
mind  off  of  things.  The  eastern  limited  don't 
leave  till  midnight.  Us  to  the  theatre!' 

"It  was  a  swell  tepee,  all  right.  Variety 
house,  with  moving  pictures,  and  actorbats, 
and  two-ton  soubrettes,  with  Barrios  diamonds 
and  hand-painted  socks. 

"First  good  show  I'd  seen  in  three  years, 
and  naturally  humour  broke  out  all  over  me. 
When  joy  spreads  its  wings  in  my  vitals,  I 
sound  like  a  boy  with  a  stick  running  past  a 
picket-fence.  Not  so  Morrow.  He  slopped  over 
the  sides  of  his  seat,  like  he'd  been  spilled 
into  the  house. 


30  PARDNERS 

"Right  after  the  sea-lions,  the  orchestra 
spieled  some  teetery  music,  and  out  floats  a 
woman,  slim  and  graceful  as  an  antelope.  She 
had  a  big  pay-dump  of  brown  hair,  piled  up 
on  her  hurricane  deck,  with  eyes  that  snapped 
and  crinkled  at  the  corners.  She  single-footed 
in  like  a  derby  colt,  and  the  somnambulists  in 
the  front  row  begin  to  show  cause.  Something 
about  her  startled  me,  so  I  nudged  the  kid,  but 
he  was  chin-deep  in  the  plush,  with  his  eyes 
closed.  I  marked  how  drawed  and  haggard  he 
looked ;  and  then,  of  a  sudden  he  raised  half  on 
to  his  feet.  The  girl  had  begun  to  sing.  Her 
voice  was  rich  and  low,  and  full  of  deep,  still 
places,  like  a  mountain  stream.  But  Morrow! 
He  sunk  his  fingers  into  me,  and  leaned  for'rad, 
starin'  as  though  Paradise  had  opened  for  him, 
while  the  sweat  on  his  face  shone  like  diamond 
chips. 

"It  was  the  girl  of  the  locket,  all  right,  on 
the  stage  again  —  in  vaudeville. 

"Her  song  bubbled  along,  rippling  over 
sandy,  sunlit  gravel  bars,  and  slidin'  out 


Pardners  31 

through  shadowy  trout  pools  beneath  the 
cool,  alder  thickets,  and  all  the  time  my  pard- 
ner  sat  burning  his  soul  in  his  eyes,  his  breath 
achin'  out  through  his  throat.  Incidental,  his 
digits  was  knuckle-deep  into  the  muscular 
tissue  of  William  P.,  the  gent  to  the  right. 

"When  she  quit,  I  had  to  jam  him  back. 

"For  an  encore  she  sang  a  reg'lar  Ameri 
can  song,  with  music  to  it.  When  she  reached 
the  chorus  she  stopped.  Then  away  up  in 
the  balcony  sounded  the  tiny  treble  of  a 
boy's  soprano,  sweet  as  the  ring  of  silver. 
The  audience  turned,  to  a  man,  and  we 
seen,  perched  among  the  newsboys,  the  lit 
tlest,  golden-haired  youngster,  'bout  the  size 
of  your  thumb,  his  eyes  glued  to  the  face  of 
his  mother  on  the  stage  below,  pourin'  out  his 
lark  song,  serious  and  frightened.  Twice  he 
done  it,  while  by  main  stren'th  I  held  his 
father  to  the  enjoyments  of  a  two-dollar  or 
chestra  chair. 

"Let  us  in,'  we  says,  three  nyjmtes  later, 
to  the  stranger  at  the  stage  door,  but  he  looked 


32  PARDNERS 

upon  us  with  unwelcome,  like  the  seven- 
headed  hydrant  of  Holy  Writ. 

"'It's  agin'  the  rules/  says  he.  'You  kin 
wait  in  the  alley  with  the  other  Johnnies.' 

"  I  ain't  acclimated  to  the  cold  disfavour  of  a 
stage  door,  never  having  soubretted  along  the 
bird  and  bottle  route.  I  was  for  the  layin'  on 
of  hands.  Moreover,  I  didn't  like  the  company 
we  was  in,  'Johnnies,'  by  designations  of  the 
Irish  terrier  at  the  wicket.  They  smoked  ready- 
made  cigarettes,  and  some  of  'em  must  have 
measured  full  eight  inches  acrost  the  chest. 

"'Let  us  stroll  gently  but  firmly  into,  over, 
and  past  the  remains  of  this  party,  to  the  mis 
sus,'  says  I,  but  Morrow  got  seized  with  the 
shakes,  of  a  sudden. 

'"No,  no.  We'll  wait  here.' 

"At  last  she  come  out,  steppin'  high.  When 
she  moved  she  rustled  and  rattled  like  she 
wore  sandpaper  at  the  ankles. 

"Say,  she  was  royal!  She  carried  the  young 
ster  in  her  arms,  sound  asleep,  and  it  wasn't  till 
she  stepped  under  the  gaslight  that  she  seen  us. 


Pardners  33 

"'Oh!'  she  cried,  and  went  white  as  the  lace 
of  her  cloak.  Then  she  hugged  the  kiddie  clost 
to  her,  standing  straight  and  queenly,  her  eyes 
ablaze,  her  lips  moist,  and  red,  and  scornful. 

"  God,  she  was  grand  —  but  him  ?  He  looked 
like  a  barnacle. 

"' Olive!'  says  he,  bull-froggy,  and  that's 
all.  Just  quit  like  a  dog  and  ate  her  up  by  long 
distance  eyesight.  Lord!  Nobody  would  have 
knowed  him  for  the  same  man  that  called  the 
crooked est  gamblers  on  the  Yukon,  and  bolted 
newspaper  men  raw.  He  had  ingrowing  lan 
guage.  It  oozed  out  through  his  pores  till  he 
dreened  like  a  harvest  hand.  I'd  have  had  her 
in  my  arms  in  two  winks,  so  that  all  hell  and  a 
policeman  couldn't  have  busted  my  holt  till 
she'd  said  she  loved  me. 

"  She  shrivelled  him  with  a  look,  the  likes  of 
which  aint  strayed  over  the  Mason-Dixon  line 
since  Lee  surrendered,  and  swept  by  us,  in- 
vitin'  an'  horspitable  as  an  iceberg  in  a  cross 
sea.  Her  cab  door  slammed,  and  I  yanked 
Morrow  out  of  there,  more  dead  than  alive. 


34  PA&DNEtlS 

" '  Let  me  go  home,'  says  he  wearily. 

'You  bet!'  I  snorts.  'It's  time  you  was 
tucked  in.  The  dew  is  fallin'  and  some  rude 
person  might  accost  you.  You  big  slob !  There's 
a  man's  work  to  do  to-night,  and  as  I  don't 
seem  to  have  no  competition  in  holding  the 
title,  I  s'pose  it's  my  lead.'  I  throwed  him  into 
a  carriage.  'You'd  best  put  on  your  nighty, 
and  have  the  maid  turn  down  your  light. 
Sweet  dreams,  Gussie!'  I  was  plumb  sore  on 
him.  History  don't  record  no  divorce  suits 
in  the  Stone  Age,  when  a  domestic  inclined 
man  allus  toted  a  white-oak  billy,  studded 
with  wire  nails,  according  to  the  pictures, 
and  didn't  scruple  to  use  it,  both  at  home 
and  abroad.  Women  was  hairy,  them  days, 
and  harder  to  make  love,  honour  and  obey; 
but  principles  is  undyin'. 

"I  boarded  another  cab: 

"'Drive    me    to    number — ,'    giving    him 
the  address  I'd  heard  her  use. 

"'Who  is  it,'  came  her  voice  when  I  rang 
the  bell. 


Pardners  35 

"'Messenger  boy,'  I  replies,  perjuring  my 
vocal  cords. 

"When  she  opened  the  door,  I  pushed 
through  and  closed  it  behind  me. 

"'  What  does  this  mean  ?'  she  cried.  'Help!' 

"'Shut  up!  It  means  you're  killing  the  best 
boy  in  the  world,  and  I  want  to  know  why.' 

"'Who  are  you?' 

"I'm  Bill  Joyce,  your  husband's  pardner. 
Old  Tarantula  Bill,  that  don't  fear  no  man, 
woman,  or  child  that  roams  the  forest.  I'm 
here  to  find  what  ails  you  — ' 

" '  Leave  this  house,  sir ! ' 

'"Well,  not  to  any  extent.  You're  a  good 
girl;  I  knowed  it  when  I  first  seen  your  pic 
ture.  Now,  I  want  you  to  tell  me  — ' 

'"Insolent!  Shall  I  call  the  police?'  Her 
voice  was  icy,  and  she  stood  as  solid  as  stone. 

"'Madam,  I'm  as  gentle  as  a  jellyfish,  and 
peaceful  to  a  fault,  but  if  you  raise  a  row  be 
fore  I  finish  my  talk  I'll  claim  no  responsi 
bility  over  what  occurs  to  the  first  eight  or 
ten  people  that  intrudes,'  and  I  drawed  my 


36  PARDNERS 

skinnin'  knife,  layin'  it  on  the  pianner.  '  Phil 
anthropy  is  raging  through  my  innards,  and 
two  loving  hearts  need  joining!' 

" '  I  don't  love  him,'  she  quotes,  like  a  phono- 
graft,  ignoring  my  cutlery. 

"I'll  take  exception  to  that  ruling,'  and  I 
picks  up  a  picture  of  Justus  she'd  dropped  as 
I  broke  in.  She  never  batted  an  eye. 

"I  nursed  that  lad  through  brain  fever, 
when  all  he  could  utter  was  your  name.' 

' '  Has  he  been  sick  ? '  The  first  sign  of 
spring  lit  up  her  peaks. 

' '  Most  dead.  Notice  of  the  divorce  done  it. 
He's  in  bad  shape  yet.'  Morrow  never  had  a 
sick  day  in  his  life,  but  I  stomped  both  feet  on 
the  soft  pedal,  and  pulled  out  the  tremulo  stop. 

" '  Oh !  Oh ! '  Her  voice  was  soft,  though  she 
still  stood  like  a  birch. 

"  *  Little  girl,'  I  laid  a  hand  on  her  shoulder. 
"We  both  love  that  boy.  Come,  now,  what  is 
the  matter  ? ' 

"  She  flashed  up  like  powder. 

"'Matter?  I  thought  he  was  a  gentleman, 


Pardners  37 

even  though  he  didn't  love  me;  that  he  had  a 
shred  of  honour,  at  least.  But  no!  He  went  to 
Alaska  and  made  a  fortune.  Then  he  squan 
dered  it,  drinking,  fighting,  gambling,  and 
frittering  it  away  on  women.  Bah!  Lewd  crea 
tures  of  the  dance-halls,  too.' 

"'Hold  up!  Your  dope  sheet  is  way  to  the 
bad.  There's  something  wrong  with  your 
libretto.  Who  told  you  all  that  ?' 

' '  Never  mind.  I  have  proof.  Look  at  these, 
and  you  dare  to  ask  me  why  I  left  him  ? ' 

"  She  dragged  out  some  pictures  and  thro  wed 
'em  at  me. 

"'Ah!  Why  didn't  I  let  the  kid  kill  him?' 
says  I,  through  my  teeth. 

"The  first  was  the  gambling-room  of  the 
Reception.  There  stood  Morrow  with  the  men 
under  foot;  there  was  the  bottles  and  glasses; 
the  chips  and  cards,  and  also  the  distressful 
spectacle  of  Tarantula  Bill  Joyce,  a  number 
twelve  man,  all  gleaming  teeth,  and  rolling 
eyeballs,  inserting  hisself  into  a  number  nine 
opening,  and  doing  surprising  well  at  it. 


38  PARDNERS 

" f  Look  at  them.  Look  at  them  well,'  she 
gibed. 

"The  second  was  the  Gold-Belt  dance-hall, 
with  the  kid  cavorting  through  a  drunken 
orgy  of  painted  ladies,  like  a  bull  in  a  pansy 
patch.  But  the  other  —  it  took  my  breath 
away  till  I  felt  I  was  on  smooth  ice,  with 
cracks  showing.  It  was  the  inside  of  a  cabin, 
after  a  big  *  pot-latch,'  displaying  a  table 
littered  up  with  fizz  bottles  and  dishes  galore. 
Diamond  Tooth  Lou  stood  on  a  chair,  wav 
ing  kisses  and  spilling  booze  from  a  mug.  In 
the  centre  stood  Morrow  with  another  girl, 
nestling  agin  his  boosum  most  horrible  lovin'. 
Gee !  It  was  a  home  splitter  and  it  left  me  spar 
ring  for  wind.  The  whole  thing  exhaled  an  air 
of  debauchery  that  would  make  a  wooden  In 
dian  blush.  No  one  thing  in  particular;  just  the 
general  local  colour  of  a  thousand-dollar 
bender. 

'  *  Charming,  isn't  it  ?'  she  sneered. 

"'I  don't  savvy  the  burro.  There's  some 
thing  phony  about  it.  I  can  explain  the  other 


^Pardners  39 

two,  but  this  one  — .'  Then  it  come  to  me  in  a 
flash.  The  man's  face  was  perfect,  but  he  wore 
knickerbockers!  Now,  to  my  personal  know 
ledge,  the  only  being  that  ever  invaded  Ram 
part  City  in  them  things  was  R.  Alonzo 
Struthers. 

"'There's  secrets  of  the  dark-roon/ that  I 
ain't  wise  to,'  says  I,  '  but  I  feel  that  this  is  go 
ing  to  be  a  bad  night  for  the  newspaper  en 
terprise  of  'Frisco  if  it  don't  explain.  I'll  fetch 
the  man  that  busted  your  Larrys  and  Peanuts.' 
'  *  Our  what  ? '  says  she. 

"'Larrys  and  Peanuts — that's  Roman. 
The  kid  told  me  all  about  'em.  They're  sort  of 
little  cheap  gods ! ' 

"'Will  you  ever  go?'  she  snapped.  "I  don't 
need  your  help.  Tell  him  I  hate  him!'  She 
stamped  her  foot,  and  the  iron  come  into  her 
again  till  the  pride  of  all  Kentucky  blazed 
in  her  eyes. 

"She  couldn't  understand  my  explanations 
no  more  than  I  could,  so  I  ducked.  As  I  backed 
out  the  door,  though,  I  seen  her  crumple  up 


40  PARDNERS 

and  settle  all  of  a  heap  on  the  floor.  She  cer 
tainly  did  hate  that  man  scandalous. 

"I'm  glad  some  editors  work  nights.  Struth- 
ers  wasn't  overjoyed  at  my  call,  particular,  as 
I  strayed  in  with  two  janitors  dangling  from 
me.  They  said  he  was  busy  and  couldn't  be 
interrupted,  and  they  seemed  to  insist  on  it.' 

"'It's  a  bully  night,'  says  I,  by  way  of 
epigram,  unhooking  the  pair  of  bouncers. 
"'You  wouldn't  like  me  to  take  you  ridin'  per 
haps?' 

' '  Are  you  drunk,  or  crazy  ? '  says  he.  *  What 
do  you  mean  by  breaking  into  my  office?  I 
can't  talk  to  you ;  we're  just  going  to  press.' 

'  *  I'd  like  to  stay  and  watch  it,'  says  I,  *  but 
I've  got  a  news  item  for  you.'  At  the  same 
time  I  draws  my  skinner  and  lays  it  on  the 
back  of  his  neck,  tempting.  Steel,  in  the 
lamp-light,  is  discouraging  to  some  tempera 
ments.  One  of  the  body-guards  was  took  with 
urgent  business,  and  left  a  streamer  of  fun 
ny  noises  behind  him,  while  the  other  gave 
autumn-leaf  imitations  in  the  corner.  Stru- 


Pardners  41 

thers  looked  like  a  dose  of  seasickness  on  a 
sour  stomach. 

"Get  your  hat.  Quick!'  I  jobbed  him,  gen 
tle  and  encouraging. 

"Age  allus  commands  respect.  Therefore 
the  sight  of  a  six-foot,  grizzled  Klondiker  in 
a  wide  hat,  benevolently  prodding  the  night 
editor  in  the  short  ribs  and  apple  sauce,  with 
eight  bright  and  chilly  inches,  engendered  a 
certain  respect  in  the  reportorial  staff. 

'"You're  going  to  tell  Mrs.  Morrow  all 
about  the  pretty  pictures,'  I  says,  like  a  father. 
"Let  me  go,  damn  you!'  he  frothed,  but 
I  wedged  him  into  a  corner  of  the  cab  and 
took  off  his  collar  —  in  strips.  It  interfered 
with  his  breathing,  as  I  couldn't  get  a  holt 
low  enough  to  regulate  his  respiration.  He 
kicked  out  two  cab  windows,  but  I  bumped 
his  head  agin  the  woodwork,  by  way  of  re 
partee.  It  was  a  real  pleasure,  not  to  say  rec 
reation,  experimenting  with  the  noises  he 
made.  Seldom  I  get  a  neck  I  give  a  cuss  to 
squeeze.  His  was  number  fifteen  at  first,  by 


42  PARDNERS 

the  feel;  but  I  reduced  it  a  quarter  size  at 
a  time. 

"When  we  got  there  I  helped  him  out,  one 
hand  under  his  chin,  the  other  back  of  his 
ears.  I  done  it  as  much  from  regard  of  the 
neighbours  as  animosities  to  him,  for  it  was 
the  still,  medium  small  hours.  I  tiptoed  in  with 
my  treatise  on  the  infamies  of  photography 
gurgling  under  my  hand,  but  at  the  door  I 
stopped.  It  was  ajar;  and  there,  under  the 
light,  I  spied  Morrow.  In  his  arms  I  got 
glimpses  of  black  lace  and  wavy,  brown  hair, 
and  a  white  cheek  that  he  was  accomplishing 
wonders  with.  They  wouldn't  have  heard  a 
man -hole  explosion. 

"'He's  still  fitting  to  be  my  pardner,'  I 
thinks,  and  then  I  heard  Struthers's  teeth 
chatter  and  grind.  I  looked  at  him,  and  the 
secret  of  the  whole  play  came  to  me. 

"Never  having  known  the  divine  passion, 
it  ain't  for  me  to  judge,  but  I  tightened  on  his 
voice-box  and  whispered: 

"  'You've  outlived  your  period  of  usefulness, 


Pardners  43 

Struthers,  and  it's  time  to  go.  Let  us  part 
friends,  however/  So  I  bade  him  Godspeed 
from  the  top  step. 

"Looking  back  on  the  evening  now,  that 
adieu  was  my  only  mistake.  I  limped  for  a 
week  —  he  had  a  bottle  in  his  hip  pocket." 


THE  MULE  DRIVER  AND  THE 
GARRULOUS  MUTE 


THE  MULE  DRIVER  AND  THE 
GARRULOUS  MUTE 

Bill  had  finished  panning  the  concentrates 
from  our  last  clean-up,  and  now  the  silver  ball 
of  amalgam  sizzled  and  fried  on  the  shovel 
over  the  little  chip-fire,  while  we  smoked  in  the 
sun  before  the  cabin.  Removed  from  the  sali 
vating  fumes  of  the  quicksilver,  we  watched 
the  yellow  tint  grow  and  brighten  in  the  heat. 

"There's  two  diseases  which  the  doctors 
ain't  got  any  license  to  monkey  with,"  began 
Bill,  chewing  out  blue  smoke  from  his  lungs 
with  each  word,  "  and  they're  both  fevers.  After 
they  butt  into  your  system  they  stick  cross- 
ways,  like  a  swallered  toothpick;  there  ain't 
any  patent  medicine  that  can  bust  their  holt." 

I  settled  against  the  door- jamb  and  nodded. 

"  I've  had  them  both,  acute  and  continuous, 


48  PARDNERS 

since  I  was  old  enough  to  know  my  own  mind 
and  the  taste  of  tobacco;  I  hold  them  mainly 
responsible  for  my  present  condition."  He 
mournfully  viewed  his  fever-ridden  frame 
which  sprawled  a  pitiful  six-feet-two  from  the 
heels  of  his  gum-boots  to  the  grizzled  hair  be 
neath  his  white  Stetson. 

"The  first  and  most  rabid,"  he  continued, 
"  is  horse-racing  —  and  t'other  is  the  mining 
fever,  which  last  is  a  heap  insidiouser  in  its 
action  and  more  lingering  in  its  effect. 

"It  wasn't  long  after  that  deal  in  the  Terri 
tory  that  I  felt  the  symptoms  coming  on  agin, 
and  this  time  they  pinted  most  emphatic  to 
ward  prospecting,  so  me  and  'Kink'  Martin 
loaded  our  kit  onto  the  burros  and  hit  West. 

"'Kink'  was  a  terrible  good  prospector, 
though  all-fired  unlucky  and  peculiar.  Most 
people  called  him  crazy,  'cause  he  had  fits  of 
goin'  for  days  without  a  peep. 

"Hosstyle  and  ornery  to  the  whole  world; 
sort  of  bulging  out  and  exploding  with  silence, 
as  it  were. 


The  Mule  Driver  and  the  Garrulous  Mute  49 

"We'd  been  out  in  the  hills  for  a  week  on 
our  first  trip  before  he  got  one  of  them  death- 
watch  faces  on  him,  and  boycotted  the  English 
langwidge.  I  stood  for  it  three  days,  trying  to 
jolly  a  grin  on  to  him  or  rattle  a  word  loose, 
but  he  just  wouldn't  jolt. 

"One  night  we  packed  into  camp  tired, 
hungry,  and  dying  for  a  good  feed. 

"I  hustled  around  and  produced  a  supper 
fit  for  old  Mr.  Eppycure.  Knowing  that 
'Kink'  had  a  weakness  for  strong  coffee  that 
was  simply  a  hinge  in  him,  I  pounded  up  about 
a  quart  of  coffee  beans  in  the  corner  of  a  blanket 
and  boiled  out  a  South  American  liquid  that 
was  nothing  but  the  real  Arbuckle  mud. 

"This  wasn't  no  chafing-dish  party  either, 
because  the  wood  was  wet  and  the  smoke 
chased  me  round  the  fire.  Then  it  blazed  up  in 
spurts  and  fired  the  bacon-grease,  so  that 
when  I  grabbed  the  skillet  the  handle  sizzled 
the  life  all  out  of  my  callouses.  I  kicked  the 
fire  down  to  a  nice  bed  of  coals  and  then  the 
coffee-pot  upset  and  put  it  out.  Ashes  got  into 


50  PARDNERS 

the  bacon,  and  —  Oh!  you  know  how  joyful 
it  is  to  cook  on  a  green  fire  when  you're  dead 
tired  and  your  hoodoo's  on  vicious. 

"When  the  'scoffings'  were  finally  ready,  I 
wasn't  in  what  you  might  exactly  call  a  molly- 
fying  and  tactful  mood  nor  exuding  genialness 
and  enthusiasms  anyways  noticeable." 

"I  herded  the  best  in  camp  towards  him, 
watching  for  a  benevolent  symptom,  but  he 
just  dogged  it  in  silence  and  never  changed  a 
hair.  That  was  the  limit,  so  I  inquired  sort  of 
ominous  and  gentle,  'Is  that  coffee  strong 
enough  for  ye,  Mr.  Martin  ? ' 

"He  give  a  little  impecunious  grunt,  im 
plying,  'Oh!  it'll  do,'  and  with  that  I  seen 
little  green  specks  begin  to  buck  and  wing  in 
front  of  my  eyes;  reaching  back  of  me,  I 
grabbed  the  Winchester  and  throwed  it  down 
on  him. 

"'Now,  you  laugh,  darn  you,'  I  says,  'in  a 
hurry.  Just  turn  it  out  gleeful  and  infractions.' 

"He  stared  into  the  nozzle  of  that  Krupp 
for  a  minute,  then  swallered  twice  to  tune 


The  Mule  Driver  and  the  Garrulous  Mute  51 

up  his  reeds,  and  says,  friendly  and  perlite,  but 
serious  and  wheezy: 

"  '  Why,  what  in  hell  ails  you,  William  ?' 

"'Laugh,  you  old  dong-beater,'  I  yells,  ris 
ing  gradually  to  the  occasion, '  or  I'll  bust  your 
cupola  like  a  blue-rock.' 

"'I've  got  to  have  merriment,'  I  says  'I  pine 
for  warmth  and  genial  smiles,  and  you're  due 
to  furnish  the  sunshine.  You  emit  a  few  shreds 
of  mirth  with  expedition  or  the  upper  end  of 
your  spinal-cord  is  going  to  catch  cold.' 

"Say!  his  jaws  squeaked  like  a  screen  door 
when  he  loosened,  but  he  belched  up  a  beauty, 
sort  of  stagy  and  artificial  it  was,  but  a  great 
help.  After  that  we  got  to  know  each  other  a 
heap  better.  Yes,  sir;  soon  after  that  we  got  real 
intimate.  He  knocked  the  gun  out  of  my  hands, 
and  we  began  to  arbitrate.  We  plumb  ruined 
that  spot  for  a  camping  place;  rooted  it  up  in 
furrows,  and  tramped  each  other's  stummicks 
out  of  shape.  We  finally  reached  an  amicable 
settlement  by  me  getting  him  agin  a  log  where 
I  could  brand  him  with  the  coffee-pot. 


52  PARDNERS 

"Right  there  we  drawed  up  a  protoplasm, 
by  the  terms  of  which  he  was  to  laugh  any 
ways  twice  at  meal- times. 

"  He  told  me  that  he  reckoned  he  was  locoed, 
and  always  had  been  since  a  youngster,  when 
the  Injuns  run  in  on  them  down  at  Frisbee, 
the  time  of  the  big  'killing.'  'Kink'  saw  his 
mother  and  father  both  murdered,  and  other 
things,  too,  which  was  impressive,  but  not 
agreeable  for  a  growing  child.  He  had  formed 
a  sort  of  antipathy  for  Injuns  at  that  time, 
which  he  confessed  he  hadn't  rightly  been  able 
to  overcome. 

"Now,  he  allus  found  himself  planning  how 
to  hand  Mr.  Lo  the  double  cross  and  avoid 
complications. 

"We  worked  down  into  South  Western 
Arizony  to  a  spot  about  thirty-five  miles  back 
of  Fort  Walker  and  struck  a  prospect.  Sort 
of  a  teaser  it  was,  but  worth  working  on.  We'd 
just  got  nicely  started  when  'Kink'  comes  into 
camp  one  day  after  taking  a  passiar  around 
the  butte  for  game,  and  says : 


TTie  M  wfe  Driver  and  the  Garrulous  Mute  53 

"'The  queerest  thing  happened  to  me  just 
now,  Kid.' 

"'Well,  scream  it  at  me,'  I  says,  sort  of 
smelling  trouble  in  the  air. 

"'Oh!  It  wasn't  much,'  says  he.  'I  was  just 
working  down  the  big  canyon  over  there  after 
a  deer  when  I  seen  two  feather-dusters  coming 
up  the  trail.  I  hid  behind  a  rock,  watching  'em 
go  past,  and  I'm  durned  if  my  gun  didn't  go  off 
accidental  and  plumb  ruin  one  of  'em.  Then  I 
looks  carefuller  and  seen  it  wasn't  no  feather- 
duster  at  all  —  nothing  but  an  Injun.' 

" '  What  about  the  other  one  ? '  , 

"'That's  the  strangest  part,'  says  'Kink.' 
'Pretty  soon  the  other  one  turns  and  hits  the* 
back-trail  like  he'd  forgot  something;  then  L 
seen  him  drop  off  his  horse,  too,  sudden  and  all 
togetherish.  I'm  awful  careless  with  this  here 
gun,'  he  says.  I  hate  to  see  a  man  laugh  from 
his  tonsils  forrard,  the  way  he  did.  It  ain't 
humorous. 

"'See  here,'  I  says,  'I  ain't  the  kind  that 
finds  fault  with  my  pardner,  nor  saying  this  to 


54  PARDNERS  " 

be  captious  and  critical  of  your  play;  but  don't 
you  know  them  Cochises  ain't  on  the  war 
path  ?  Them  Injuns  has  been  on  their  reserva 
tion  for  five  years,  peaceable,  domesticated, 
and  eating  from  the  hand.  This  means  trouble.' 
' '  My  old  man  didn't  have  no  war  paint  on 
him  one  day  back  at  Frisbee,'  whispers  'Kink,' 
and  his  voice  sounded  puckered  up  and  dried, 
'and  my  mother  wasn't  so  darned  quarrel 
some,  either.' 

"Then  I  says,  'Well!  them  bodies  has  got  to 
be  hid,  or  we'll  have  the  tribe  and  the  blue- 
bellies  from  the  fort  a  scouring  these  hills  till 
a  red-bug  couldn't  hide.' 

"'To  hell  with  'em,'  says  'Kink.'  'I've  done 
all  I'm  going  to  for  'em.  Let  the  coyotes  finish 
the  job.' 

'"No,  siree,'  I  replies.  'I  don't  blame  you 
for  having  a  prejudice  agin  savages,  but  my 
parents  is  still  robust  and  husky,  and  I  have 
an  idea  that  they'd  rather  see  me  back  on  the 
ranch  than  glaring  through  the  bars  for  life. 
I'm  going  over  to  bury  the  meat.' 


The  Mule  Driver  and  the  Garrulous  Mute  55 

"  Off  I  went,  but  when  I  slid  down  the  gulch, 
I  only  found  one  body.  T'other  had  disap 
peared.  You  can  guess  how  much  time  I  lost 
getting  back  to  camp. 

"'"Kink,"'  I  says,  *  we're  a  straddle  of  the 
raggedest  proposition  in  this  country.  One  of 
your  dusters  at  this  moment  is  jamming  his 
cayuse  through  the  horizon  between  here  and 
the  post.  Pretty  soon  things  is  going  to  bust 
loose.  'Bout  to-morrer  evening  we'll  be  eating 
hog-bosom  on  Uncle  Sam.' 

"'Well!  Well!'  says  'Kink,'  'ain't  that  a 
pity.  Next  time  I'll  conquer  my  natural  shyness 
and  hold  a  post-mortem  with  a  rock.' 

"'There  won't  be  no  next  time,  I  reckon/ 
I  says, '  'cause  we  can't  make  it  over  into  Mexi 
co  without  being  caught  up.  They'll  nail  us 
sure,  seeing  as  we're  the  only  white  men  for 
twenty-five  miles  around.' 

" '  I'd  rather  put  up  a  good  run  than  a  bad 
stand,  anyhow,'  says  he,  *  and  I  allows,  further 
more,  there's  going  to  be  some  hard  trails  to 
foller  and  a  tolable  disagreeable  fight  before  I 


56  PARDNERS 

pleads  "not  guilty"  to  the  Colonel.  We'll  both 
duck  over  into  the  Santa  — ' 

'  '  Now,  don't  tell  me  what  route  you're  go 
ing,'  I  interrupts, '  'cause  I  believe  I'll  stay  and 
bluff  it  through,  rather  than  sneak  for  it,  though 
neither  proposition  don't  appeal  to  me.  I  may 
get  raised  out  before  the  draw,  but  the  percent 
age  is  just  as  strong  agin  your  game  as  mine.' 

"'Boy,  if  I  was  backing  your  system,'  says 
'Kink,'  I'd  shore  copper  this  move  and  play 
her  to  lose.  You  come  on  with  me,  and  we'll 
make  it  through  —  mebbe.' 

"'No,' I  says; 'here  I  sticks.' 

"I  made  up  a  pack-strap  out  of  my  extry 
overhalls  while  he  got  grub  together,  to  start 
south  through  one  hundred  miles  of  the  rug- 
gedest  and  barrenest  country  that  was  ever 
left  unfinished. 

"Next  noon  I  was  parching  some  coffee- 
beans  in  the  frying-pan,  when  I  heard  hoofs 
down  the  gully  back  of  me.  I  never  looked  up 
when  they  come  into  the  open  nor  when  I 
heard  a  feller  say 'Halt!' 


The  Mule  Driver  and  the  Garrulous  Mute  57 

'" Hello  there!'  somebody  yells.  'You  there 
at  the  fire.'  I  kept  on  shaking  the  skillet  over 
the  camp-fire. 

" '  What's  the  matter  with  him  ? '  somebody 
said.  A  man  got  off  and  walked  up  behind  me. 

"'See  here,  brother,'  he  says,  tapping  me  on 
the  shoulder;  'this  don't  go.' 

"I  jumped  clean  over  the  fire,  dropped  the 
pan,  and  let  out  a  deaf  and  dumb  holler,  'Ee! 
Ah!' 

"The  men  began  to  laugh;  it  seemed  to  rile 
the  little  leftenant. 

" '  Cut  this  out,'  says  he. '  You  can  talk  as  well 
as  I  can,  and  you're  a  going  to  tell  us  about  this 
Injun  killin'.  Don't  try  any  fake  business,  or  I'll 
roast  your  little  heels  over  that  fire  like  yams/ 

"I  just  acted  the  dummy,  wiggled  my  fin 
gers,  and  handed  him  the  joyful  gaze,  helio- 
graphing  with  my  teeth  as  though  I  was  glad 
to  see  visitors.  However,  I  wondered  if  that 
runt  would  really  give  my  chilblains  a  treat. 
He  looked  like  a  West  Pointer,  and  I  didn't 
know  but  he'd  try  to  haze  me. 


58  PARDNERS 

"Well!  they  'klow-towed'  around  there  for 
an  hour  looking  for  clues,  but  I'd  hid  all  the 
signs  of  'Kink/  so  finally  they  strapped  me 
onto  a  horse  and  we  hit  back  for  the  fort. 

"The  little  man  tried  all  kinds  of  tricks  to 
make  me  loosen  on  the  way  down,  but  I  just 
acted  wounded  innocence  and  'Ee'd'  and 
'  Ah'd'  at  him  till  he  let  me  alone. 

"  When  we  rode  up  to  the  post  he  says  to  the 
Colonel: 

"'We've  got  the  only  man  there  is  in  the 
mountains  back  there,  sir,  but  he's  playing 
dumb.  I  don't  know  what  his  game  is.' 

"'Dumb,  eh?'  says  the  old  man,  looking 
me  over  pretty  keen.  'Well!  I  guess  we'll  find 
his  voice  if  he's  got  one.' 

"He  took  me  inside,  and  speaking  of  ex 
aminations,  probably  I  didn't  get  one.  He  kept 
looking  at  me  like  he  wanted  to  place  me,  but 
I  give  him  the  'Ee!  Ah!'  till  everybody  began 
to  laugh.  They  tried  me  with  a  pencil  and 
paper,  but  I  balked,  laid  my  ears  back,  and 
buck-jumped.  That  made  the  old  man  sore, 


The  Mule  Driver  and  the  Garrulous  Mute  59 

and  he  says:  'Lock  him  up!  Lock  him  up;  I'll 
make  him  talk  if  I  have  to  skin  him.'  So  I  was 
dragged  to  the  'skookum-house,'  where  I 
spent  the  night  figuring  out  my  finish. 

"I  could  feel  it  coming  just  as  plain,  and  I 
begun  to  see  that  when  I  did  open  up  and  prat 
tle  after  'Kink'  was  safe,  nobody  wouldn't  be 
lieve  my  little  story.  I  had  sized  the  Colonel  up 
as  a  dead  stringy  old  proposition,  too.  He  was 
one  of  these  big-chopped  fellers  with  a  mouth 
set  more'n  half  way  up  from  his  chin  and  little 
thin  lips  like  the  edge  of  a  knife  blade,  and  just 
as  full  of  blood  —  face,  big  and  rustic-finished. 

"I  says  to  myself,  'Bud,  it  looks  like  you 
wouldn't  be  forced  to  prospect  for  a  living  any 
more  this  season.  If  that  old  sport  turns  him 
self  loose  you're  going  to  get  "life"  three  times 
and  a  holdover.' 

"Next  morning  they  tried  every  way  to 
make  me  talk.  Once  in  a  while  the  old  man 
looked  at  me  puzzled  and  searching,  but  I 
didn't  know  him  from  a  sweat-pad,  and  just 
paid  strict  attention  to  being  dumb. 


60  PARDNERS 

"  It  was  mighty  hard,  too.  I  got  so  nervous 
my  mouth  simply  ached  to  let  out  a  cayoodle. 
The  words  kept  trying  to  crawl  through  my 
sesophagus,  and  when  I  backed  'em  up,  they 
slid  down  and  stood  around  in  groups,  hang 
ing  onto  the  straps,  gradually  filling  me  with 
witful  gems  of  thought. 

"The  Colonel  talked  to  me  serious  and 
quiet,  like  I  had  good  ears,  and  says,  'My 
man,  you  can  understand  every  word  I  say, 
I'm  sure,  and  what  your  object  is  in  main 
taining  this  ridiculous  silence,  I  don't  know. 
You're  accused  of  a  crime,  and  it  looks 
serious  for  you.' 

"Then  he  gazes  at  me  queer  and  intent, 
and  says,  'If  you  only  knew  how  bad  you  are 
making  your  case  you'd  make  a  clean  breast  of 
it.  Come  now,  let's  get  at  the  truth.' 

"Them  thought  jewels  and  wads  of  repartee 
was  piling  up  in  me  fast,  like  tailings  from  a 
ground-sluice,  till  I  could  feel  myself  getting 
bloated  and  pussy  with  langwidge,  but  I 
thought,  'No!  to-morrow  "Kink"  '11  be  safe, 


The  Mule  Driver  and  the  Garrulous  Mute  61 

and  then  I'll  throw  a  jolt  into  this  man's 
camp  that'll  go  down  in  history.  They'll  think 
some  Chinaman's  been  thawing  out  a  box  of 
giant  powder  when  I  let  out  my  roar.' 

"I  goes  to  the  guard-house  again,  with  a 
soldier  at  my  back.  Everything  would  have 
been  all  right  if  we  hadn't  run  into  a  mule 
team. 

"They  had  been  freighting  from  the  rail 
road,  and  as  we  left  the  barracks  we  ran  afoul 
of  four  outfits,  three  span  to  the  wagon,  with 
the  loads  piled  on  till  the  teams  was  all  lather 
and  the  wheels  complainin'  to  the  gods,  trying 
to  pass  the  corner  of  the  barracks  where  there 
was  a  narrow  opening  between  the  buildings. 

"Now  a  good  mule-driver  is  the  littlest, 
orneriest  speck  in  the  human  line  that's  known 
to  the  microscope,  but  when  you  get  a  poor 
one,  he'd  spoil  one  of  them  cholera  germs  you 
read  about  just  by  contact.  The  leader  of  this 
bunch  was  worse  than  the  worst;  strong  on 
whip- arm,  but  surprising  weak  on  judgment. 
He  tried  to]  make  the  turn,  run  plump  into  the 


62  PARDNERS 

corner  of  the  building,  stopped,  backed,  swung, 
and  proceeded  to  get  into  grief. 

"The  mules  being  hot  and  nervous,  he  sent 
them  all  to  the  loco  patch  instanter.  They  be 
gan  to  plunge  and  turn  and  back  and  snarl. 
Before  you  could  say  'Craps!  you  lose,'  them 
shave-tails  was  giving  the  grandest  exhibition 
of  animal  idiocy  in  the  Territory,  barring  the 
teamster.  He  follered  their  trail  to  the  mad 
house,  yanking  the  mouths  out  of  them,  cruel 
and  vicious. 

"Now,  one  mule  can. cause  a  heap  of  trib 
ulation,  and  six  mules  can  break  a  man's 
heart,  but  there  wasn't  no  excuse  for  that 
driver  to  stand  up  on  his  hind  legs,  close  his 
eyes,  and  throw  thirty  foot  of  lash  into  that 
plungin',  buckin',  white-eyed  mess.  When  he 
did  it,  all  the  little  words  inside  of  me  began  to 
foam  and  fizzle  like  sedlitz;  out  they  came, 
biling,  in  mouthfuls,  and  streams,  and  squirts, 
backwards,  sideways,  and  through  my  nose. 

"'Here!  you  infernal  half -spiled,  dog-rob 
bing  walloper,'  I  says;  'you  don't  know 


The  Mule  Driver  and  the  Garrulous  Mute  63 

enough  to  drive  puddle  ducks  to  a  pond.  You 
quit  heaving  that  quirt  or  I'll  harm  you  past 
healing.' 

"He  turned  his  head  and  grit  out  something 
through  his  teeth  that  stimulated  my  circula 
tion.  I  skipped  over  the  wheels  and  put  my 
left  onto  his  neck,  fingering  the  keys  on  his 
blow-pipe  like  a  flute.  Then  I  give  him  a  toss 
and  gathered  up  the  lines.  Say!  it  was  like  the 
smell  of  grease-paint  to  an  actor  man  for  me  to 
feel  the  ribbons  again,  and  them  mules  knew 
they  had  a  chairman  who  savvied  'em  too, 
and  had  mule  talk  pat,  from  soda  to  hock. 

"I  just  intimated  things  over  them  with 
that  whip,  and  talked  to  them  like  they  was 
my  own  flesh  and  blood.  I  starts  at  the  worst 
words  the  English  langwidge  and  the  range 
had  produced,  to  date,  and  got  steadily  and 
rapidly  worse  as  long  as  I  talked. 

"Arizony  may  be  slow  in  the  matter  of 
standing  collars  and  rag-time,  but  she  leads 
the  world  in  profanity.  Without  being  swelled 
on  myself,  I'll  say,  too,  that  I  once  had  more'n 


64  PARDNERS 

a  local  reputation  in  that  line,  having  originated 
some  quaint  and  feeling  conceits  which  has 
won  modest  attention,  and  this  day  I  was  cer 
tainly  trained  to  the  minute. 

"I  addressed  them  brutes  fast  and  earnest 
for  five  minutes  steady,  and  never  crossed  my 
trail  or  repeated  a  thought. 

"It  must  have  been  sacred  and  beautiful. 
Anyhow,  it  was  strong  enough  to  soak  into 
their  pores  so  that  they  strung  out  straight 
as  a  chalk-line.  Then  I  lifted  them  into  the 
collars,  and  we  rumbled  past  the  building, 
swung  in  front  of  the  commissary  door,  cramp 
ed  and  stopped.  With  the  wheelers  on  their 
haunches,  I  backed  up  to  the  door  square  as  a 
die. 

"I  wiped  the  sweat  out  of  my  eyes  and 
looked  up  into  the  grinning  face  of  about  fifty 
swatties,  realizing  I  was  a  mute  —  and  a 
prisoner. 

"I  heard  a  voice  say,  'Bring  me  that  man.' 
There  stood  the  Colonel  oozing  out  wrath  at 
every  pore. 


The  Mule  Driver  and  the  Garrulous  Mute  65 

"I  parted  from  that  wagon  hesitating  and 
reluctant,  but  two  soldiers  to  each  leg  will  bust 
any  man's  grip.  I  lost  some  clothes,  too,  after 
we  hit  the  ground,  but  I  needed  the  exercise. 

"The  old  man  was  alone  in  his  office  when 
they  dragged  me  in,  and  he  sent  my  guards 
out. 

"'So  you  found  your  voice,  did  you?'  he 
says. 

'Yes,  sir,'  I  answers.  'It  came  back  unex 
pected,  regular  miracle.' 

"  He  drummed  on  the  table  for  a  long  time, 
and  then  says,  sort  of  immaterial  and  irrever 
ent,  'You're  a  pretty  good  mule  puncher,  eh  ?' 

" '  It  ain't  for  me  to  say  I'm  the  best  in  the 
Territory,'  I  says;  'but  I'm  curious  to  meet 
the  feller  that  claims  the  title.' 

"  He  continues, '  It  reminds  me  of  an  exhibi 
tion  I  saw  once,  back  in  New  Mexico,  long 
time  ago,  at  the  little  Flatwater  Canyon.' 

' '  Maybe  you've  heard  tell  of  the  fight  there 
when  the  Apaches  were  up  ?  Yes  ?  Well,  I  hap 
pened  to  be  in  that  scrimmage.' 


66  PARDNERS 

"I  was  detailed  with  ten  men  to  convoy  a 
wagon  train  through  to  Fort  Lewis.  We  had 
no  trouble  till  we  came  to  the  end  of  that  can 
yon,  just  where  she  breaks  out  onto  the  flats. 
There  we  got  it.  They  were  hidden  up  on  the 
ridges ;  we  lost  two  men  and  one  wagon  before 
we  could  get  out  onto  the  prairie. 

" '  I  got  touched  up  in  the  neck,  first  clatter, 
and  was  bleeding  pretty  badly;  still  I  hung  to 
my  horse,  and  we  stood  'em  off  till  the  teams 
made  it  out  of  the  gulch;  but  just  as  we  came 
out  mv  horse  fell  and  threw  me  —  broke  his 
leg.  I  yelled  to  the  boys : 

"'"Go  on!  For  God's  sake  go  on!"  Any  de 
lay  there  meant  loss  of  the  whole  outfit.  Be 
sides,  the  boys  had  more  than  they  could 
manage,  Injuns  on  three  sides. 

"  *  We  had  a  young  Texan  driving  the  last 
wagon.  When  I  went  down  he  swung  those 
six  mules  of  his  and  came  back  up  that  trail 
into  the  gut,  where  the  bullets  snapped  like 
grasshoppers. 

"'It  was  the  prettiest  bit  of  driving  I  ever 


The  Mule  Driver  and  the  Garrulous  Mute  67 

saw,  not  to  mention  nerve.  He  whirled  the 
outfit  between  me  and  the  bluff  on  two  wheels, 
yelling,  "Climb  on!  Climb  on!  We  ain't  going 
to  stay  long!"  I  was  just  able  to  make  it  onto 
the  seat.  In  the  turn  they  dropped  one  of  his 
wheelers.  He  ran  out  on  the  tongue  and  cut 
the  brute  loose.  We  went  rattling  down  the 
gulch  behind  five  mules.  All  the  time  there 
came  out  of  that  man's  lungs  the  fiercest 
stream  of  profanity  my  ears  ever  burned  un 
der.  I  was  pretty  sick  for  a  few  weeks,  so  I 
never  got  a  chance  to  thank  that  teamster.  He 
certainly  knew  the  mind  of  an  army  mule, 
though.  His  name  was  —  let  me  see  —  Wig 
gins  —  yes,  Wiggins.' 

"'Oh,  no  it  wasn't,'  I  breaks  in,  foolish; 
'it  was  Joyce.' 

"Then  I  stopped  and  felt  like  a  kid,  for  the 
Colonel  comes  up  and  shuts  the  circulation  out 
of  both  my  hands. 

"'I  wasn't  sure  of  you,  Bill,'  he  says,  'till  I 
saw  you  preside  over  those  mules  out  there  and 
heard  your  speech  —  then  I  recognized  the 


68  PARDNERS 

gift.'  He  laughed  like  a  boy,  still  making  free 
with  my  hands.  'I'm  darn  glad  to  see  you,  Bill 
Joyce.  Now  then,'  he  says,  'tell  me  all  about 
this  killing  up  in  the  hills,'  and  I  done  so. 

"After  I  finished  he  never  said  anything 
for  a  long  time,  just  drummed  the  desk  again 
and  looked  thoughtful. 

"'It's  too  bad  you  didn't  speak  out,  Bill, 
when  you  first  came  in.  Now,  you've  showed 
everybody  that  you  can  talk  —  just  a  little, 
anyhow,'  and  he  smiles,  'and  they  all  think 
you're  the  man  caused  the  trouble.  I  don't  see 
but  that  you've  got  to  stand  trial.  I  wish  I 
could  help  you,  Bill.' 

'"But  see  here,  Colonel,'  I  says;  'I  couldn't 
squeal  on  'Kink.'  We're  pardners.  I  just  had 
to  give  him  a  chance  to  cut.  I  played  dumb 
'cause  I  knew  if  I  talked  at  all,  being  simple 
and  guileless,  you  all  would  twist  me  up  and 
have  the  whole  thing  in  a  jiffy.  That  man  give 
me  the  last  drop  of  water  in  his  canteen  on  the 
Mojave,  and  him  with  his  own  tongue  swelled 
clean  out  of  his  mouth,  too.  When  we  was 


The  Mule  Driver  and  the  Garrulous  Mute  69 

snowed  in,  up  in  the  Bitter  Roots,  with  me 
snow-blind  and  starving,  he  crawled  from 
Sheeps-Horn  clean  to  Miller's  —  snow  twelve 
foot  deep,  too,  and  nary  a  snow-shoe  in  miles, 
but  he  brought  the  outfit  in  to  where  I  was 
lyin'  'bout  gone  in.  He  lost  some  fingers  and 
more  toes  wallering  through  them  mountain 
drifts  that  day,  but  he  never  laid  down  till  he 
brought  the  boys  back. 

"'Colonel!  we've  slept  on  the  same  blanket, 
we've  et  the  same  grub,  we've  made  and  lost 
together,  and  I  had  to  give  him  a  show,  that's 
all.  I'm  into  this  here  trouble  now.  Tell  me 
how  I'm  going  to  get  out.  What  would  you 
do?' 

"He  turns  to  the  open  window  and  says: 
*  Partners  are  partners!  That's  my  horse  out 
there  at  that  post.  If  I  were  you  I'd  run  like 
hell.' 

"That  was  the  willingest  horse  I  ever  rode, 
and  I  hated  to  sell  him,  but  he  was  tolable  used 
up  when  I  got  across  the  line." 


THE  COLONEL  AND  THE 
HORSE-THIEF 


THE  COLONEL  AND  THE  HORSE-THIEF 

Those  marks  on  my  arm  ?  Oh !  I  got  'em  play- 
in'  horse-thief.  Yes,  playin'.  I  wasn't  a  real 
one,  you  know  -  -  Well,  I  s'pose  it  was  sort  of 
a  queer  game.  Came  near  bein'  my  last  too, 
and  if  Black  Hawk  hadn't  been  the  best  horse 
in  Texas  the  old  Colonel  would've  killed  me 
sure.  He  chased  me  six  miles  as  it  was  —  me 
with  one  arm  full  of  his  buckshot  and  anxious 
to  explain,  and  him  strainin'  to  get  in  range 
again  and  not  wishin'  any  further  particulars. 

That  was  way  back  in  the  sixties,  when  I  was 
as  wild  a  lad  as  ever  straddled  a  pony. 

You  see  five  of  us  had  gone  over  into  the 
Crow  Nation  to  race  horses  with  the  Indians, 
and  it  was  on  the  way  back  that  the  old  man 
and  the  bullet  holes  figger  in  the  story. 

At  the  beginnin'  it  was  Jim  Barrett's  plan, 


74  PARDNERS 

and  it  had  jest  enough  risk  and  devilment  in  it 
to  suit  a  harum-scarum  young  feller  like  me; 
so  we  got  five  of  the  boys  who  had  good  horses, 
lumped  together  all  of  our  money,  and  rode 
out  to  invade  the  reservation. 

You  know  how  an  Indian  loves  to  run  horses  ? 
Well,  the  Crows  had  a  good  deal  of  money 
then,  and  our  scheme  was  to  go  over  there, 
get  up  a  big  race,  back  our  horses  with  all  we 
had,  and  take  down  the  wealth. 

Takin'  chances?  Don't  you  believe  it. 
That's  where  the  beauty  of  Jim's  plan  com 
menced  to  sort  of  shine  through. 

You  see,  as  soon  as  the  money  was  up  and 
the  horses  started,  every  Indian  would  be 
watchin'  the  race  and  yellin'  at  the  nags,  then, 
in  the  confusion,  our  boys  was  to  grab  the 
whole  pot,  Indian's  money  and  ours  too,  and 
we'd  make  our  get  away  across  the  river  back 
into  Texas. 

We  figured  that  we  could  get  a  few  minutes 
start  of  'em,  and,  with  the  horses  we  had  un 
der  us,  there  wasn't  much  danger  of  their 


The  Colonel  and  the  Horse-Thief         75 

gettin'  in  range  before  we  crossed  back  to 
where  they  couldn't  follow  us. 

Well,  sir!  I  never  see  anything  work  out  like 
that  scheme  did.  Them  Crows  was  dead  anx 
ious  to  run  their  ponies  and  seemed  skeered 
that  we  wouldn't  let  'em  get  all  their  money 
up. 

As  we  was  eatin'  supper  the  night  before 
the  race,  Donnelly  says:  "Boys,  I'm  sore  that 
we  didn't  have  more  coin.  If  we'd  worked  'em 
right  they'd  'a'  give  us  odds.  We  could  'a'  got 
five  to  three  anyhow,  and  maybe  more." 

"They  shore  have  got  a  heap  of  confidence 
in  them  skates  of  their'n,"  says  "Kink"  Mar 
tin.  "I  never  see  anybody  so  anxious  to  play 
a  race  in  my  life.  If  it  wasn't  all  planned  out 
the  way  it  is,  I'd  like  to  stick  and  see  which 
boss  is  the  best.  I'd  back  Black  Hawk  agin  any 
hunk  of  meat  in  the  Territory,  with  the  Kid 
here  in  the  saddle." 

They'd  ribbed  it  up  for  me  to  ride  Martin's 
mare,  Black  Hawk,  while  a  little  feller  named 
Hollis  rode  his  own  horse. 


76  PARDNERS 

Donnelly's  part  was  to  stay  in  the  saddle  and 
keep  the  other  horses  close  to  Barrett  and  Mar 
tin.  They  was  to  stick  next  to  the  money,  and 
one  of  'em  do  the  bearin'  off  of  the  booty 
while  the  other  made  the  protection  play. 

We  hoped  in  the  excitement  to  get  off  with 
out  harmin'  any  of  Uncle  Sam's  pets,  but  all 
three  of  the  boys  had  been  with  the  Rangers 
and  I  knew  if  it  came  to  a  show  down,  they 
wouldn't  hesitate  to  "pot"  one  or  two  in 
gittin'  away. 

We  rode  out  from  camp  the  next  mornin' 
to  where  we'd  staked  out  a  mile  track  on  the 
prairie  and  it  seemed  as  if  the  whole  Crow 
Nation  was  there,  and  nary  a  white  but  us  five. 

They'd  entered  two  pretty  good-lookin ' 
horses  and  had  their  jockeys  stripped  down  to 
breech-clouts,  while  Hollis  and  me  wore  our 
whole  outfits  on  our  backs,  as  we  didn't  ex 
actly  figger  on  dressin'  after  the  race,  least 
ways,  not  on  that  side  of  the  river. 

Just  before  we  lined  up,  Jim  says:  "Now 
you  —  all  ride  like  — ,  and  when  you  git  to  the 


The  Colonel  and  the  Horse-Thief       77 

far  turn  we'll  let  the  guns  loose  and  stampede 
the  crowd.  Then  jest  leave  the  track  and  make 
a  break  fer  the  river,  everybody  fer  himself. 
We'll  all  meet  at  them  cottonwoods  on  the 
other  side,  so  we  can  stand  'em  off  if  they  try 
to  swim  across  after  us." 

That  would  have  been  a  sure  enough  hot 
race  if  we  had  run  it  out,  for  we  all  four  got  as 
pretty  a  start  as  I  ever  see  and  went  down  the 
line  all  together  with  a-bangin'  of  hoofs  and 
Indian  yells  ringin'  in  our  ears. 

I  had  begun  to  work  Black  Hawk  out  of 
the  bunch  to  get  a  clear  start  across  the  prairie 
at  the  turn,  when  I  heard  the  guns  begin  snap- 
pin'  like  pop-corn. 

"They've  started  a'ready,"  yelled  Hollis, 
and  we  turned  the  rearin'  horses  toward  the 
river,  three  miles  away,  leavin'  them  two  sav 
ages  tearin'  down  the  track  like  mad. 

I  glanced  back  as  I  turned,  but,  instead  of 
seein'  the  boys  in  the  midst  of  a  decent  re 
treat,  the  crowd  was  swarmin'  after  'em  like 
a  nest  of  angry  hornets,  while  Donnelly,  with 


78  PARDNERS 

his  reins  between  his  teeth,  was  blazin'  away 
at  three  reds  who  were  right  at  Barrett's  heels 
as  he  ran  for  his  horse.  Martin  was  lashin'  his 
jumpin'  cayuse  away  from  the  mob  which 
sputtered  and  spit  angry  shots  after  him. 
Bucks  were  runnin'  here  and  there  and  hastily 
mountin'  their  ponies  —  while  an  angry  roar 
came  to  me,  punctuated  by  the  poppin'  of  the 
guns. 

Hollis  and  I  reached  the  river  and  swam  it 
half  a  mile  ahead  of  the  others  and  their  yellin' 
bunch  of  trailers,  so  we  were  able  to  protect 
'em  in  their  crossin'. 

I  could  see  from  their  actions  that  Bennett 
and  Martin  was  both  hurt  and  I  judged  the 
deal  hadn't  panned  out  exactly  accordin'  to 
specifications. 

The  Crows  didn't  attempt  to  cross  in  the 
teeth  of  our  fire,  however,  being  satisfied  with 
what  they'd  done,  and  the  horses  safely  brought 
our  three  comrades  drippin'  up  the  bank  to 
where  we  lay  takin'  pot-shots  at  every  bunch  of 
feathers  that  approached  the  opposite  bank. 


The  Colonel  and  the  Horse- Thief       79 

We  got  Barrett's  arm  into  a  sling,  and,  as 
Martin's  hurt  wasn't  serious,  we  lost  no  time 
in  gettin'  away. 

"They  simply  beat  us  to  it,"  complained 
Barrett,  as  we  rode  south.  "You  all  had  jest 
started  when  young  Long  Hair  grabs  the  sack 
and  ducks  through  the  crowd,  and  the  whole 
bunch  turns  loose  on  us  at  once.  We  wasn't 
expectin'  anything  so  early  in  the  game,  and 
they  winged  me  the  first  clatter.  I  thought  sure 
it  was  off  with  me  when  I  got  this  bullet  in  the 
shoulder,  but  I  used  the  gun  in  my  left  hand 
and  broke  for  the  nearest  pony." 

"  They  got  me,  too,  before  I  saw  what  was 
up,"  added  Martin;  "but  I  tore  out  of  there 
like  a  jack-rabbit.  It  was  all  done  so  cussed 
quick  that  the  first  thing  I  knew  I'd  straddled 
my  horse  and  was  makin'  tracks.  Who'd  a 
thought  them  durned  Indians  was  dishonest 
enough  fer  a  trick  like  that  ?" 

Then  Donnelly  spoke  up  and  says:  "Boys, 
as  fur  as  the  coin  goes,  we're  out  an'  injured; 
we  jest  made  a  'Mexican  stand-off' —  lost  our 


80  PARDNERS 

money,  but  saved  our  lives  —  and  mighty 
lucky  at  that,  from  appearances.  What  I  want 
to  know  now  is,  how  we're  all  goin'  to  get 
home,  clean  across  the  State  of  Texas,  with 
out  a  dollar  in  the  outfit,  and  no  assets  but  our 
guns  and  the  nags." 

That  was  a  sure  tough  proposition,  and  we 
had  left  it  teetotally  out  of  calculations.  We'd 
bet  every  bean  on  that  race,  not  seem'  how  we 
could  lose.  In  them  days  there  wasn't  a  rail 
road  in  that  section,  ranches  were  scattering 
and  people  weren't  givin'  pink  teas  to  every 
stranger  that  rode  up  —  especially  when  they 
were  as  hard-lookin'  as  we  were. 

"We've  got  to  eat,  and  so's  the  horses,"  says 
Hollis,  "but  no  rancher  is  goin'  to  welcome 
with  open  arms  as  disreputable  an  outfit  as  we 
are.  Two  men  shot  up,  and  the  rest  of  us  with 
out  beddin',  grub,  money,  or  explanations. 
Them's  what  we  need  —  explanations.  I  don't 
exactly  see  how  we're  goin'  to  explain  our  fix 
to  the  honest  hay-diggers,  either.  Everybody'll 
think  some  sheriff  is  after  us,  and  two  to  one 


The  Colonel  and  the  Horse- Thief       81 

they'll  put  some  officer  on  our  trail,  and  we'll 
have  more  trouble.  I  believe  I've  had  all  I 
want  for  a  while." 

"I'll  tell  you  how  we'll  work  it,"  I  says. 
"One  of  us'll  be  the  sheriff  of  Guadalupe 
County,  back  home,  with  three  deputies, 
bringin'  back  a  prisoner  that  we've  chased 
across  the  State.  We'll  ride  up  to  a  ranch  an' 
demand  lodgin'  for  ourselves  and  prisoner  in 
the  name  of  the  State  of  Texas  and  say  that 
we'll  pay  with  vouchers  on  the  county  in  the 
morning." 

"No,  sir!  not  fer  me,"  says  Martin.  "I'm 
not  goin'  in  fer  forgery.  It's  all  right  to  prac 
tice  a  little  mild  deception  on  our  red  brothers, 
as  we  figgered  on  doing,  but  I'm  not  goin'  to 
try  to  flimflam  the  State  of  Texas.  Our  trou 
bles  'd  only  be  startin'  if  we  began  that  game." 

:'Your  plan's  all  right,  Kid,"  says  Bennett 
to  me.  "You  be  the  terrible  desperado  that 
I'm  bringin'  home  after  a  bloody  fight,  where 
you  wounded  Martin  and  me,  and  'most  es 
caped.  You'll  have  ev'ry  rancher's  wife  givin' 


82  PARDNERS 

you  flowers  and  weepin'  over  your  youth  and 
kissin'  you  good-bye.  In  the  mornin',  when 
we're  ready  to  go  and  I'm  about  to  fix  up  the 
vouchers  for  our  host,  you  break  away  and 
ride  like  the  devil.  We'll  all  tear  off  a  few  shots 
and  foller  in  a  hurry,  leavin'  the  farmer  hopin' 
that  the  villain  is  recaptured  and  the  girls 
tearfully  prayin'  that  the  gallunt  and  mis 
guided  youth  escapes."  • 

It  seemed  to  be  about  our  only  resort,  as 
the  country  was  full  of  bad  men,  and  we  were 
liable  to  get  turned  down  cold  if  we  didn't 
have  some  story,  so  we  decided  to  try  it  on. 

We  rode  up  to  a  ranch  'bout  dark,  that  night, 
me  between  the  others,  with  my  hands  tied  be 
hind  me,  and  Jim  called  the  owner  out. 

"I  want  a  night's  lodgin'  fer  my  deputies 
and  our  prisoner,"  he  says.  "I'm  the  sheriff  of 
Guadalupe  County,  and  I'll  fix  up  the  bill  in 
the  mornin'." 

"Come  in!  Come  in!"  the  feller  says,  callin' 
a  man  for  the  horses.  "  Glad  to  accommodate 
you.  Who's  your  prisoner  ?" 


The  Colonel  and  the  Horse-Thief       83 

"That's  Texas  Charlie  that  robbed  the 
Bank  of  Euclid  single-handed,"  answers  Jim. 
"  He  give  us  a  long  run  clean  across  the  State, 
but  we  got  him  jest  as  he  was  gettin'  over  into 
the  Indian  Territory.  Fought  like  a  tiger." 

It  worked  fine.  The  feller,  whose  name  was 
Morgan,  give  us  a  good  layout  for  the  night 
and  a  bully  breakfast  next  morning. 

That  desperado  game  was  simply  great. 
The  other  fellers  attended  to  the  horses,  and 
I  jest  sat  around  lookin'  vicious,  and  had  my 
grub  brought  to  me,  while  the  women  acted 
sorrowful  and  fed  me  pie  and  watermelon 
pickles. 

When  we  was  ready  to  leave  next  morn 
ing,  Jim  says:  "Now,  Mr.  Morgan,  I'll  fix 
up  them  vouchers  with  you,"  and  givin'  me  the 
wink,  I  let  out  a  yell,  and  jabbin'  the  spurs  into 
Black  Hawk,  we  cleared  the  fence  and  was 
off  like  a  puff  of  dust,  with  the  rest  of  'em 
shootin'  and  screamin'  after  me  like  mad. 

Say!  It  was  lovely  —  and  when  the  boys 
overtook  me,  out  of  sight  of  the  house,  Mor- 


84  PARDNERS 

gan  would  have  been  astonished  to  see  the 
sheriff,  his  posse,  and  the  terrible  desperado 
doubled  up  in  their  saddles  laughin'  fit  to  bust. 

Well,  sir!  we  never  had  a  hitch  in  the  pro 
ceedings  for  five  days,  and  I  was  gettin'  to  feel 
a  sort  of  pride  in  my  record  as  a  bank-robber, 
forger,  horse-thief,  and  murderer,  accordin' 
to  the  way  Bennett  presented  it.  He  certainly 
was  the  boss  liar  of  the  range. 

He  had  a  story  framed  up  that  painted  me 
as  the  bloodiest  young  tough  the  Lone  Star 
had  ever  produced,  and  it  never  failed  to  get 
me  all  the  attention  there  was  in  the  house. 

One  night  we  came  to  the  best  lookin'  place 
we'd  seen,  and,  in  answer  to  Jim's  summons, 
out  walked  an  old  man,  followed  by  two  of  the 
prettiest  girls  I  ever  saw,  who  joined  their 
father  in  invitin'  us  in. 

"  Glad  to  be  of  assistance  to  you,  Mr.  Sher 
iff,"  he  said.  "My  name  is  Purdy,  sir!  Colonel 
Purdy,  as  you  may  have  heard.  In  the  Mexican 
War,  special  mention  three  times  for  distin 
guished  conduct.  These  are  my  daughters,  sir! 


The  Colonel  and  the  Horse-Thief       85 

Annabel  and  Marie."  As  we  went  in,  he  con 
tinued:  "You  say  you  had  a  hard  time  gettin' 
your  prisoner?  He  looks  young  for  a  crim 
inal.  What's  he  wanted  for  ?" 

Somehow,  when  I  saw  those  girls  blushin' 
and  bowin'  behind  their  father,  I  didn't  care 
to  have  my  crimes  made  out  any  blacker'n 
necessary  and  I  tried  to  give  Jim  the  high-sign 
to  let  me  off  easy --just  make  it  forgery  or 
arson  —  but  he  was  lookin'  at  the  ladies,  and 
evidently  believin'  in  the  strength  of  a  good 
impression,  he  said:  "Well,  yes!  He's  young 
but  they  never  was  a  old  man  with  half  his 
crimes.  He's  wanted  for  a  good  many  things  in 
different  places,  but  I  went  after  him  for  horse- 
stealin'  and  murder.  Killed  a  rancher  and  his 
little  daughter,  then  set  fire  to  the  house  and 
ran  off  a  bunch  o'  stock." 

"Oh!  Oh!  How  dreadful!"  shuddered  the 
girls,  backin'  off  with  horrified  glances  at  me. 

I  tried  to  get  near  Jim  to  step  on  his  foot,  but 
the  old  man  was  glarin'  at  me  somethin'  awful. 

"  Come  to  observe  him  closely,  he  has  a  de- 


86  PARDNERS 

praved  face,"  says  he.  "He  looks  the  thorough 
criminal  in  every  feature,  dead  to  every  decent 
impulse,  I  s'pose." 

I  could  have  showed  him  a  live  impulse 
that  would  have  surprised  him  about  then. 

In  those  days  I  was  considered  a  pretty 
handsome  feller  too,  and  I  knew  I  had  Jim 
beat  before  the  draw  on  looks,  but  he  con 
tinues  makin'  matters  worse. 

"Yes,  and  he's  desperate  too.  One  of  the 
worst  I  ever  see.  We  had  an  awful  fight  with 
him  up  here  on  the  line  of  the  Territory.  He 
shot  Martin  and  me  before  we  got  him.  Ye  see, 
I  wanted  to  take  him  alive,  and  so  I  took 
chances  on  gettin5  hurt. 

"Thank  ye,  Miss;  my  arm  does  ache  con 
siderable;  of  course,  if  you'd  jest  as  soon  dress 
it  —  Oh,  no !  I'm  no  braver'n  anybody  else,  I 
guess.  Nice  of  ye  to  say  so,  anyhow,"  and  he 
went  grinnin'  out  into  the  kitchen  with  the 
girls  to  fix  up  his  awn. 

The  old  man  insisted  on  havin'  my  feet 
bound  together  and  me  fastened  to  a  chair, 


The  Colonel  and  the  Horse-Thief       87 

and  said:  "Yes,  yes,  I  know  you  can  watch 
him,  but  you're  in  my  house  now,  and  I  feel  a 
share  of  the  responsibility  upon  me.  I've  had 
experience  with  desperate  characters  and  I'm 
goin'  to  be  sure  that  this  young  reprobate  don't 
escape  his  just  punishment.  Are  you  sure  you 
don't  need  more  help  gettin'  him  home?  I'll 
go  with  you  if — " 

"Thank  ye,"  interrupted  Hollis.  "We've 
chased  the  scoundrel  four  hundred  miles,  and 
I  reckon,  now  we've  got  him,  we  can  keep  him. 

At  supper,  Jim  with  his  arm  in  a  new  sling, 
sat  between  the  two  girls  who  cooed  over  him 
and  took  turns  feedin'  him  till  it  made  me 
sick. 

The  old  man  had  a  nigger  move  my  chair 
up  to  the  foot  of  the  table  and  bring  me  a  plate 
of  coarse  grub  after  they  all  finished  eatin'. 

He  had  tied  my  ankles  to  the  lower  rung  of 
the  chair  himself,  and  when  I  says  to  the  nig 
ger,  "Those  cords  have  plum  stopped  my  cir 
culation,  just  ease  'em  up  a  little,"  he  went 
straight  up. 


88  PARDNERS 

"Don't  you  touch  them  knots,  Sam!"  he 
roared.  "I  know  how  to  secure  a  man,  and 
don't  you  try  any  of  your  games  in  my  house, 
either,  you  young  fiend.  I'd  never  forgive 
myself  if  you  escaped." 

I  ate  everything  I  could  reach,  which  wasn't 
much,  and  when  I  asked  for  the  butter  he 
glared  at  me  and  said:  "Butter's  too  good  for 
horse-thieves;  eat  what's  before  you." 

Every  time  I'd  catch  the  eye  of  one  of  the 
girls  and  kind  of  grin  and  look  enticing,  she'd 
shiver  and  tell  Jim  that  the  marks  of  my  de 
pravity  stood  out  on  my  face  like  warts  on  a 
toad. 

Jim  and  the  boys  would  all  grin  like  idiots 
and  invent  a  new  crime  for  me.  On  the  square, 
if  I'd  worked  nights  from  the  age  of  three  I 
couldn't  have  done  half  they  blamed  me  for. 

They  put  it  to  the  old  man  so  strong  that 
when  he  turned  in  he  chained  me  to  Sam,  the 
cross-eyed  nigger  that  stood  behind  me  at  sup 
per,  and  made  us  sleep  on  the  floor. 

I  told  Sam  that  I  cut  a  man's  throat  once 


The  Colonel  and  the  Horse-Thief       89 

because  he  snored,  and  that  nigger  never  closed 
an  eye  all  night.  I  was  tryin'  to  get  even  with 
somebody. 

After  breakfast,  when  it  came  time  to  leave, 
Donnelly  untied  my  feet  and  led  me  out  into  the 
yard,  where  the  girls  were  hangin'  around  the 
Colonel  and  Jim,  who  was  preparin'  to  settle  up. 

As  we  rode  up  the  evening  before,  I  had 
noticed  that  we  turned  in  from  the  road 
through  a  lane,  and  that  the  fence  was  too  high 
to  jump,  so,  when  I  threw  my  leg  over  Black 
Hawk,  I  hit  Donnelly  a  swat  in  the  neck,  and, 
as  he  did  a  stage-fall,  I  swept  through  the  gate 
and  down  the  lane. 

The  old  man  cut  the  halter  off  one  of  his 
Mexican  war-whoops,  and  broke  through  the 
house  on  the  run,  appearin'  at  the  front  door 
with  his  shot-gun  just  as  I  checked  up  to  make 
the  turn  onto  the  main  road. 

As  I  swung  around,  doubled  over  the  horse's 
neck,  he  let  drive  with  his  old  blunderbuss,  and 
I  caught  two  buckshot  in  my  right  arm  where 
you  see  them  marks. 


90  PARDNERS 

I  had  sense  enough  to  hang  on  and  ride  for 
my  life,  because  I  knew  the  old  fire-eater 
would  reckon  it  a  pleasure  to  put  an  end  to 
such  a  wretch  as  me,  if  he  got  half  a  chance. 

I  heard  him  howl,  "Come  on  boys!  We'll 
get  him  yet,"  and,  over  my  shoulder,  I  saw 
him  jump  one  of  his  loose  horses  standin'  in 
the  yard  and  come  tearin'  down  the  lane, 
ahead  of  the  befuddled  sheriff  and  posse,  his 
white  hair  streamin'  and  the  shot-gun  wavin' 
aloft,  as  though  chargin'  an  army  of  greasers 
at  the  head  of  his  regiment. 

From  the  way  he  drew  away  from  the  boys, 
I  wouldn't  have  placed  any  money  that  he  was 
wrong  either. 

I've  always  wondered  how  the  old  man  ever 
got  through  that  war  with  only  three  recom 
mendations  to  the  government. 

He  certainly  kept  good  horses  too,  for  in  five 
minutes  we'd  left  the  posse  behind,  and  I  saw 
him  madly  urgin'  his  horse  into  range,  re- 
loadin'  as  he  came. 

As  I  threw  the  quirt  into  the  mare  with  my 


The  Colonel  and  the  Horse- Thief       91 

good  arm,  I  allowed  I'd  had  about  all  the 
horse-stealin'  I  wanted  for  a  while. 

The  old  devil  finally  saw  he  was  losin' 
ground  in  spite  of  his  best  efforts,  and  let  me 
have  both  barrels.  I  heard  the  shot  patter  on 
the  hard  road  behind  me,  and  hoped  he'd  quit 
and  go  home,  but  I'm  blamed  if  he  didn't 
chase  me  five  miles  further  before  turnin'  back, 
in  hopes  I'd  cast  a  shoe  or  something  would 
happen  to  me. 

I  believe  I  was  on  the  only  horse  in  Texas 
that  could  have  outrun  the  Colonel  and  his 
that  mornin'. 

About  noon  I  stopped  at  a  blacksmith's 
shop,  half  dead  with  pain,  and  had  my  arm 
dressed  and  a  big  jolt  of  whiskey. 

As  the  posse  rode  up  to  me,  sittin'  in  the  sun 
by  the  lathered  flanks  of  my  horse  and  nursin' 
my  arm,  Jim  yells  out:  "Here  he  is!  Surround 
him,  boys!  You're  our  prisoner!" 

"No!  I'm  blamed  if  I  am,"  I  says.  "You'll 
have  to  get  another  desperado.  After  this,  I'm 
the  sheriff!" 


THE  THAW  AT  SLISCO'S 


THE  THAW  AT   SLISCO'S 

The  storm  broke  at  Salmon  Lake,  and  we  ran 
for  Slisco's  road-house.  It  whipped  out  from 
the  mountains,  all  tore  into  strips  coming 
through  the  saw-teeth,  lashing  us  off  the  glare 
ice  and  driving  us  up  against  the  river  banks 
among  the  willows.  Cold?  Well,  some!  My 
bottle  of  painkiller  froze  slushy,  like  lemon 
punch. 

There's  nothing  like  a  warm  shack,  with  a 
cache  full  of  grub,  when  the  peaks  smoke  and 
the  black  snow-clouds  roar  down  the  gulch. 

Other  "mushers"  were  ahead  of  us  at  the 
road-house,  freighters  from  Kougarok,  an 
outfit  from  Teller  going  after  booze,  the  mail- 
carrier,  and,  who  do  you  reckon  ?  —  Annie 
Black.  First  time  I  had  seen  her  since  she  was 
run  out  of  Dawson  for  claim  jumping. 


96  PARDNERS 

Her  and  me  had'nt  been  essential  to  one  an 
other  since  I  won  that  suit  over  a  water  right 
on  Eldorado. 

"Hello,  Annie,"  says  I,  clawing  the  ice  out 
of  my  whiskers ;  "  finding  plenty  of  claims  down 
here  to  relocate?" 

"Shut  up,  you  perjured  pup,"  says  she,  full 
of  disappointing  affabilities ;  "I  don't  want 
any  dealings  with  a  lying,  thieving  hypocrite 
like  you,  Billy  Joyce." 

Annie  lacks  the  sporting  instinct;  she  ain't 
got  the  disposition  for  cup-racing.  Never  knew 
her  to  win  a  case,  and  yet  she's  the  instigatress 
of  more  emotional  activities  than  all  the  mark 
ed  cards  and  home  distilled  liquor  in  Alaska. 

"  See  here,"  says  I,  "  a  prairie  dog  and  a  rat 
tler  can  hole  up  together,  but  humans  has  got 
to  be  congenial,  so,  seein'  as  we're  all  stuck  to 
live  in  the  same  room  till  this  blizzard  blizzes 
out,  let's  forget  our  troubles.  I'm  as  game  a 
Hibernian  as  the  next,  but  I  don't  hibernate 
till  there's  a  blaze  of  mutual  respect  going." 

"Blaze  away,"  says  she,  "though  I  leave  it 


The  Thaw  at  Slisco's  97 

to  the  crowd  if  you  don't  look  and  act  like  a 
liar  and  a  grave  robber."  Her  speech  is  sure 
full  of  artless  hostilities. 

Ain't  ever  seen  her  ?  Lord !  I  thought  every 
body  knew  Annie  Black.  She  drifted  into  camp 
one  day,  tall,  slab-sided,  ornery  to  the  view, 
and  raising  fifty  or  upwards;  disposition  un 
certain  as  frozen  dynamite.  Her  ground  plans 
and  elevations  looked  like  she  was  laid  out 
for  a  man,  but  the  specifications  hadn't  been 
follered.  We  ain't  consumed  by  curiosity  re 
garding  the  etymology  of  every  stranger  that 
drifts  in,  and  as  long  as  he  totes  his  own  pack, 
does  his  assessments,  and  writes  his  location 
notices  proper,  it  goes.  Leastways,  it  went  till 
she  hit  town.  In  a  month  she  had  the  brotherly 
love  of  that  camp  gritting  its  teeth  and  throw 
ing  back  twisters.  'Twas  all  legitimate,  too,  and 
there  never  was  a  pennyweight  of  scandal  con 
nected  with  her  name.  No,  sir!  Far's  conduct 
goes,  she's  always  been  the  shinin'  female 
example  of  this  country;  but  them  qualities  let 
her  out. 


98  PARDNERS 

First  move  was  to  jump  Bat  Ruggles's  town 
lot.  He  had  four  courses  of  logs  laid  for  a  cabin 
when  "Scotty"  Bell  came  in  from  the  hills 
with  $1800  in  coarse  gold  that  he'd  rocked  out 
of  a  prospect  shaft  on  Bat's  Moose's  Creek 
claim. 

Naturally  Bat  made  general  proclamation  of 
thirst,  and  our  town  kinder  dozed  violently 
into  a  joyful  three  days'  reverie,  during  which 
period  of  coma  the  recording  time  on  Bat's  lot 
ran  out. 

He  returns  from  his  "hootch-hunt"  to  com 
plete  the  shack,  and  finds  Annie  overseeing 
some  "Si washes"  put  a  pole  roof  on  it.  Of 
course  he  promotes  a  race- war  immediate, 
playing  the  white  "open"  and  the  red  to  lose, 
so  to  speak,  when  she  up  an'  spanks  his  face, 
addressing  expurgated,  motherly  cuss-words 
at  him  like  he'd  been  a  bad  boy  and  swallered 
his  spoon,  or  dug  an  eye  out  of  the  kitten.  Bat 
realizes  he's  against  a  strange  system  and 
draws  out  of  the  game. 

A  week  later  she  jumps  No.  3,  Gold  Bottom, 


The  Thaw  at  Slisco's  99 

because  Donnelly  stuck  a  pick  in  his  foot  and 
couldn't  stay  to  finish  the  assessment. 

"I  can't  throw  her  off,  or  shoot  her  up," 
says  he,  "or  even  cuss  at  her  like  I  want  to, 
'cause  she's  a  lady."  And  it  appeared  like 
that'd  been  her  graft  ever  since  —  presumin' 
on  her  sex  to  make  disturbances.  In  six  months 
we  hated  her  like  pizen. 

There  wasn't  a  stampede  in  a  hundred 
miles  where  her  bloomers  wasn't  leading,  for 
she  had  the  endurance  of  a  moose;  and  be 
tween  excitements  she  prospected  for  trouble 
in  the  manner  of  relocations. 

I've  heard  of  fellers  speakin'  disrespectful  to 
her  and  then  wandering  around  dazed  and 
loco  after  she'd  got  through  painting  word 
pictures  of  'em.  It  goes  without,  saying  she  was 
generally  popular  and  petted,  and  when  the 
Commissioner  invited  her  to  duck  out  down 
the  river,  the  community  sighed,  turned  over, 
and  had  a  peaceful  rest  —  first  one  since  she'd 
come  in. 

I  hadn't  seen  her  from  that  time  till  I  blow- 


100  PARDNERS 

ed  into  Slisco's  on  the  bosom  of  this  forty  mile, 
forty  below  blizzard. 

Setting  around  the  fire  that  night  I  found 
that  she'd  just  lost  another  of  her  famous  law 
suits  —  claimed  she  owned  a  fraction  'longside 
of  No.  20,  Buster  Creek,  and  that  the  Lund 
boys  had  changed  their  stakes  so  as  to  take  in 
her  ground.  During  the  winter  they'd  opened 
up  a  hundred  and  fifty  feet  of  awful  rich  pay 
right  next  to  her  line,  and  she'd  raised  the  devil. 
Injunctions,  hearings  and  appeals,  and  now 
she  was  coming  back,  swearing  she'd  been 
"jobbed,"  the  judge  had  been  bought,  and  the 
jury  corrupted. 

"It's  the  richest  strike  in  the  district,"  says 
she.  "They've  rocked  out  $11,000  since  snow 
flew,  and  there's  30,000  buckets  of  dirt  on 
the  dump.  They  can  bribe  and  bulldoze  a  de 
cision  through  this  court,  but  I'll  have  that 
fraction  yet,  the  robbers." 

"Robbers  be  cussed,"  speaks  up  the  mail 
man.  "You're  the  cause  of  the  trouble  your 
self.  If  you  don't  get  a  square  deal,  it's  your 


The  Thaw  at  Slisco's  101 

own  fault  —  always  looking  for'  technicalities 
in  the  mining  laws.  It's  been  your  game 'from 
the  start  to  take  advantage  of  your  skirts,  what 
there  is  of  'em,  and  jump,  jump,  jump.  Nobody 
believes  half  you  say.  You're  a  natural  dis 
turber,  and  if  you  was  a  man  you'd  have  been 
hung  long  ago." 

I've  heard  her  oral  formations,  and  I  looked 
for  his  epidermis  to  shrivel  when  she  got  her 
replications  focused.  She  just  soared  up  and 
busted. 

"Look  out  for  the  stick,"  thinks  I. 

l(  Woman,  am  I,"  she  says,  musical  as  a  bum 
gramophone  under  the  slow  bell.  "I  take  ad 
vantage  of  my  skirts,  do  I  ?  Who  are  you,  you 
mangy  *malamoot,'  to  criticise  a  lady?  I'm 
more  of  a  man  than  you,  you  tin-horn;  I  want 
no  favours;  I  do  a  man's  work;  I  live  a  man's 
life;  I  am  a  man,  and  I'm  proud  of  it,  but 
you — ;  Nome's  full  of  your  kind;  you  need 
a  woman  to  support  you  ;  you're  a  proto 
plasm,  a  polyp.  Those  Swedes  changed  their 
stakes  to  cover  my  fraction.  I  know  it,  they 


102  PARDNERS 

Ipiow  it,  and  if  it  wasn't  Alaska,  God  would 
.know  it,  but  He  won't  be  in  again  till  spring, 
and  then  the  season's  only  three  months  long. 
I've  worked  like  a  man,  suffered  like  a  man — " 

"  Why  don't  ye'  lose  like  a  man  ?"  says  he. 

"  I  will,  and  I'll  fight  like  one,  too,"  says  she, 
while  her  eyes  burned  like  faggots.  "They've 
torn  away  the  reward  of  years  of  work  and 
agony,  and  they  forget  I  can  hate  like  a  man." 

She  was  stretched  up  to  high  G,  where  her 
voice  drowned  the  howl  of  the  storm,  and  her 
seamed  old  face  was  a  sight.  I've  seen  mild, 
shrinky,  mouse-shy  women  'roused  to  hell's 
own  fury,  and  I  felt  that  night  that  here  was  a 
bad  enemy  for  the  Swedes  of  Buster  Creek. 

She  stopped,  listening. 

"What's  that?  There's  some  one  at  the 
door." 

"Nonsense,"    says   one   of   the   freighters. 
"You  do  so  much  knocking  you  can  hear  the 
echo." 
»    "There's  some  one  at  that  door,"  says  she. 

"If  there  was,  they'd  come  in,"  says  Joe. 


The  Thaw  at  Slisco's  103 

"  Couldn't  be,  this  late  in  this  storm,"  I  adds. 

She  came  from  behind  the  stove,  and  we  let 
her  go  to  the  door  alone.  Nobody  ever  seemed 
to  do  any  favours  for  Annie  Black. 

"She'll  be  seein'  things  next,"  says  Joe, 
winking.  "  What'd  I  tell  you  ?  For  God's  sake 
close  it  —  you'll  freeze  us." 

Annie  opened  the  door,  and  was  hid  to  the 
waist  in  a  cloud  of  steam  that  rolled  in  out  of 
the  blackness.  She  peered  out  for  a  minute, 
stooped,  and  tugged  at  something  in  the  dark. 
I  was  at  her  side  in  a  jump,  and  we  dragged 
him  in,  snow-covered  and  senseless. 

"Quick  —  brandy,"  says  she,  slashing  at 
his  stiff  "mukluks."  "Joe,  bring  in  a  tub  of 
snow."  Her  voice  was  steel  sharp. 

"Well,  I'm  danged,"  says  the  mail  man. 
"It's  only  an  Injun.  You  needn't  go  crazy  like 
he  was  a  white." 

"  Oh,  you  fool  "  says  Annie.  "  Can't  you  see  ? 
Esquimaux  don't  travel  alone.  There's  white 
men  behind,  and  God  help  them  if  we  don't 
bring  him  to." 


104  PARDNERS 

She  knew  more  about  rescustications  than 
us,  and  we  did  what  she  said,  till  at  last  he 
came  out  of  it,  groaning  —  just  plumb  wore 
out  and  numb. 

"Talk  to  him,  Joe;  you  savvy  their  noise," 
says  I. 

The  poor  devil  showed  his  excitement,  dead 
as  he  was. 

"There's  two  men  on  the  big  'Cut-off,'" 
Joe  translates.  "Lost  on  the  portage.  There 
was  only  one  robe  between  'em,  so  they  rolled 
up  in  it,  and  the  boy  came  on  in  the  dark.  Says 
they  can't  last  till  morning." 

"That  let's  them  out,"  says  the  mail  carrier. 
"Too  bad  we  can't  reach  them  to-night." 

"What!"  snaps  Annie.  "Reach  'em?  Huh! 
I  said  you  were  a  jellyfish.  Hurry  up  and  get 
your  things  on,  boys." 

"Have  a  little  sense,"  says  Joe.  "You  surely 
ain't  a  darn  fool.  Out  in  this  storm,  dark  as 
the  inside  of  a  cow;  blowin'  forty  mile,  and 
the  'quick'  froze.  Can't  be  done.  I  wonder 
who  they  are?" 


The  Thaw  at  Slisco's  105 

He  "kowtowed"  some  more,  and  at  the 
answer  of  the  chattering  savage  we  looked  at 
Annie. 

"Him  called  Lund,"  shivered  the  Siwash. 

I  never  see  anybody  harder  hit  than  her. 
I  love  a  scrap,  but  I  thinks  "Billy,  she's  having 
a  stiffer  fight  than  you  ever  associated  with." 

Finally  she  says,  kind  of  slow  and  quiet: 
"Who  knows  where  the  ' Cut-off'  starts  ?" 

Nobody  answers,  and  up  speaks  the  U.  S. 
man  again. 

"You've  got  your  nerve,  to  ask  a  man  out  on 
such  a  night." 

"If  there  was  one  here,  I  wouldn't  have  to 
ask  him.  There's  people  freezing  within  five 
miles  of  here,  and  you  hug  the  stove,  saying: 
'It's  stormy,  and  we'll  get  cold.'  Of  course  it 
is.  If  it  wasn't  stormy  they'd  be  here  too,  and 
it's  so  cold,  you'll  probably  freeze.  What's 
that  got  to  do  with  it  ?  Ever  have  your  mother 
talk  to  you  about  duty  ?  Thank  Heaven  I  trav 
elled  that  portage  once,  and  I  can  find  it  again 
if  somebody  will  go  with  me." 


106  PARDNERS 

'Twas  a  blush  raising  talk,  but  nobody  up 
set  any  furniture  getting  dressed. 

She  continues : 

"  So  I'm  the  woman  of  this  crowd  and  I  hide 
behind  my  skirts.  Mr.  Mail  Man,  show  what 
a  glorious  creature  you  are.  Throw  yourself  — 
get  up  and  stretch  and  roar.  Oh,  you  barn 
yard  bantam!  Has  it  had  its  pap  to-night? 
I've  a  grand  commercial  enterprise;  I'll  take  all 
of  your  bust  measurements  and  send  out  to 
the  States  for  a  line  of  corsets.  Ain't  there  half 
a  man  among  you  ?" 

She  continued  in  this  vein,  pollutin'  the  air, 
and,  having  no  means  of  defence,  we  found  our 
selves  follerin'  her  out  into  a  yelling  storm  that 
beat  and  roared  over  us  like  waves  of  flame. 

Swede  luck  had  guided  their  shaft  onto  the 
richest  pay-streak  in  seven  districts,  and  Swede 
luck  now  led  us  to  the  Lund  boys,  curled  up  in 
the  drifted  snow  beside  their  dogs;  but  it  was 
the  level  head  and  cool  judgment  of  a  woman 
that  steered  us  home  in  the  grey  whirl  of  the 
dawn. 


The  Thaw  at  Slisco's  107 

During  the  deathly  weariness  of  that  night  I 
saw  past  the  calloused  hide  of  that  woman  and 
sighted  the  splendid  courage  cached  away  be 
neath  her  bitter  oratory  and  hosstyle  syllo 
gisms.  "There's  a  story  there,"  thinks  I,  "an' 
maybe  a  man  moved  in  it  —  though  I  can't 
imagine  her  softened  by  much  affection."  It 
pleased  some  guy  to  state  that  woman's  the 
cause  of  all  our  troubles,  but  I  figger  they're 
like  whisky  —  all  good,  though  some  a  heap 
better'n  others,  of  course,  and  when  a  frail, 
little,  ninety  pound  woman  gets  to  bucking 
and  acting  bad,  there's  generally  a  two  hun 
dred  pound  man  hid  out  in  the  brush  that  put 
the  burr  under  the  saddle. 

During  the  next  three  days  she  dressed  the 
wounds  of  them  Scow-weegians  and  nursed 
them  as  tender  as  a  mother. 

The  wind  hadn't  died  away  till  along 
came  the  "Flying  Dutchman"  from  Dugan's, 
twenty  miles  up,  floatin'  on  the  skirts  of  the 
blizzard. 

"Hello,  fellers.  Howdy,  Annie.  What's  the 


108  PARDNERS 

matter  here?"  says  he.  "We  had  a  woman  at 
Dugan's  too  —  purty  as  a  picture;  different 
from  the  Nome  bunch  —  real  sort  of  a  lady." 

"Who  is  she  ?"  says  I,  "an'  what's  she  doin' 
out  here  on  the  trail  ?" 

"Dunno,  but  she's  all  right;  come  clean 
from  Dawson  with  a  dog  team;  says  she's  look 
ing  for  her  mother." 

I  heard  a  pan  clatter  on  the  floor  where 
Annie  was  washing  dishes,  and  her  face  went 
a  sickly  grey.  She  leaned  across,  gripping  the 
table  and  straining  to  ask  something,  but  the 
words  wouldn't  come,  while  "Dutch"  con 
tinues  : 

"Somethin'  strange  about  it,  I  think.  She 
says  her  ma's  over  in  the  Golden  Gate  dis 
trict,  workin'  a  rich  mine.  Of  course  we  all 
laughed  at  her,  and  said  there  wasn't  a  wo 
man  in  the  whole  layout,  'ceptin'  some  folks 
might  misconstrue  Annie  here  into  a  kind  of  a 
female.  She  stuok  to  it  though,  much  as  to  say 
we  was  liars.  She's  comin'  on  —  what's  the 
matter,  Annie  —  you  ain't  sore  at  me  effemi- 


The  Thaw  at  Slisco's  109 

natin'  you  by  the  gentle  name  of  female,  are 
you?" 

She  had  come  to  him,  and  gripped  his 
shoulder,  till  her  long,  bony  fingers  buried 
themselves  in  his  mackinaw.  Her  mouth  was 
twitching,  and  she  hadn't  got  shed  of  that 
"  first-aid-to-the-injured"  look. 

"What  name?  What  name,  Dutch?  What 
name  ?"  She  shook  him  like  a  rat. 

"Bradshaw  --  but  you  needn't  run  your 
nails  through  and  clinch  'em.  Ow!  Le'go  my 
white  meat.  You  act  like  she  was  your  long 
lost  baby.  What  d'ye  think  of  that  idea, 
fellers?  Ain't  that  a  pleasin'  conceit?  Annie 
Black,  and  a  baby.  Ha!  Ha!  that's  a  hit. 
Annie  and  a  daughter.  A  cow-thief  and  a 
calla-lily." 

"Dutch,"  says  I,  "you  ain't  a-goin'  to  make 
it  through  to  Lane's  Landing  if  you  don't  pull 
your  freight,"  and  I  drags  the  darn  fool  out 
and  starts  him  off. 

When  I  came  in  she  was  huddled  onto 
a  goods  box,  shaking  and  sobbing  like 


110  PARDNERS 

any  woman,  while  the  boys  sat  around  and 
champed  their  bits  and  stomped. 

"Take  me  away,  Billy,"  she  says.  "For 
God's  sake  take  me  away  before  she  sees  me." 
She  slid  down  to  the  floor  and  cried  some 
thing  awful.  Gents,  that  was  sure  the  real  dis 
tress,  nothing  soft  and  sloppy,  but  hard, 
wrenchy,  deep  ones,  like  you  hear  at  a  melo- 
drayma.  'Twas  only  back  in  '99  that  I  seen 
an  awful  crying  match,  though  both  of  the 
ladies  had  been  drinking,  so  I  felt  like  I  was 
useder  to  emotion  than  the  balance  of  the  boys^ 
and  it  was  up  to  me  to  take  a  holt. 

"Madam,"  says  I,  and  somehow  the  word 
didn't  seem  out  of  place  any  more  -  "  Mad 
am,  why  do  you  want  to  avoid  this  party?" 

"Take  me  away,"  she  says.  "It's  my 
daughter.  She's  going  to  find  me  this  way, 
all  rough  and  immodest  and  made  fun  of. 
But  that's  the  worst  you  can  say,  isn't  it? 
I'm  a  square  woman  —  you  know  I  am,  don't 
you,  boys?"  and  she  looked  at  us  fierce  and 
pleadin'. 


The  Thaw  at  Slisco's  111 

"  Sure,"  says  Joe.  "  We'll  boost  you  with  the 
girl  all  right." 

"She  thinks  her  father's  dead,  but  he  isn't 
—  he  ran  away  with  a  show  woman  —  a  year 
after  we  were  married.  I  never  told  her  about 
it,  and  I've  tried  to  make  a  little  lady  of 
her." 

We  found  out  afterwards  that  she  had  put 
the  girl  in  a  boarding-school,  but  couldn't 
seem  to  make  enough  for  both  of  them,  and 
when  the  Klondyke  was  struck  thought  she 
saw  a  chance.  She  came  north,  insulted  by 
deck  hands  and  laughed  at  by  the  officers. 
At  Skagway  she  nursed  a  man  through  typhoid, 
and  when  he  could  walk  he  robbed  her.  The 
mounted  police  took  everything  else  she  had 
and  mocked  at  her.  "Your  kind  always  has 
money,"  they  said. 

That's  how  it  had  been  everywhere,  and 
that's  why  she  was  so  hard  and  bitter.  She'd 
worked  and  fought  like  a  man,  but  she'd  suf 
fered  like  a  woman. 

"  I've  lied  and  starved  and  stolen  for  her," 


PARDNERS 

said  Annie,  "to  make  her  think  I  was  doing 
well.  She  said  she  was  coming  in  to  me,  but  I 
knew  winter  would  catch  her  at  Dawson,  and 
I  thought  I  could  head  her  off  by  spring." 

"Now,  she's  here;  but,  men,  as  your  moth 
ers  loved  you,  save  me  from  my  little  girl." 

She  buried  her  face,  and  when  I  looked 
at  the  boys,  tears  stood  in  Joe  Slisco's  eyes 
and  the  others  breathed  hard.  Ole  Lund,  him 
that  was  froze  worst  about  the  hands,  spoke 
up: 

"Someboady  tak  de  corner  dat  blanket  an* 
blow  may  nose." 

Then  we  heard  voices  outside. 

"Hello,  in  there." 

Annie  stood  up,  clutching  at  her  throat,  and 
stepped  behind  the  corner  of  the  bunks  as  the 
door  opened,  framing  the  prettiest  picture  this 
old  range  rider  ever  saw. 

'Twas  a  girl,  glowing  pink  and  red  where 
the  cold  had  kissed  her  cheeks,  with  yellow 
curlicues  of  hair  wandering  out  under  her  yarn 
cap.  Her  little  fox-trimmed  parka  quit  at  the 


The  Thaw  at  Slisco's  113 

knees,  showing  the  daintiest  pair  of  —  I  can't 
say  it.  Anyhow,  they  wasn't,  they  just  looked 
like  'em,  only  nicer. 

She  stood  blinking  at  us,  coming  from  the 
bright  light  outside,  as  cute  as  a  new  faro  box 
—  then : 

"Can  you  tell  me  where  Mrs.  Bradshaw 
lives  ?  She's  somewhere  in  this  district.  I'm  her 
daughter  —  come  all  the  way  from  the  States  to 
see  her." 

When  she  smiled  I  could  hear  the  heart 
strings  of  those  ragged,  whiskered,  frost-bit 
"mushers"  bustin'  like  banjo  strings. 

"You  know  her,  don't  you  ?"  she  says,  turn 
ing  to  me. 

"Know  her,  Miss?  Well,  I  should  snort! 
There  ain't  a  prospector  on  the  range  that 
ain't  proud  and  honoured  to  call  her  a  friend. 
Leastways,  if  there  is  I'll  bust  his  block,"  and 
I  cast  the  bad  eye  on  the  boys  to  wise  'em  up. 
"Ain't  I  right,  Joe?" 

"Betcher  dam  life,"  says  Joe,  sort  of  over 
stepping  the  conventions. 


114  PARDNERS 

"Then  tell  me  where  her  claim  is.  It's  quite 
rich,  and  you  must  know  it,"  says  she,  appeal 
ing  to  him. 

Up  against  it?  Say!  I  seen  the  whites  of  his 
eyes  show  like  he  was  drownding,  and  he  grin 
ned  joyful  as  a  man  kicked  in  the  stummick. 

"Er  —  er  —  I  just  bought  in  here,  and  I 
ain't  acquainted  much,"  says  he.  "Have  a 
drink,"  and,  in  his  confusions,  he  sets  out  the 
bottle  of  alkalies  that  he  dignifies  by  the  alias 
of  booze.  Then  he  continues  with  reg'lar  hu 
man  intelligence. 

"Bill,  here,  he  can  tell  you  where  the 
ground  is,"  and  the  whelp  indicates  me. 

Lord  knows  my  finish,  but  for  Ole  Lund. 
He  sits  up  in  his  bunk,  swaddled  in  Annie 
Black's  bandages,  and  through  slits  between 
his  frost  bites,  he  moults  the  follering  rhetoric: 

"Aye  tole  you  vere  de  claim  iss.  She  own 
de  Nomber  Twenty  fraction  on  Buster  Creek, 
'longside  may  and  may  broder.  She's  dam 
good  fraction,  too." 

I  consider  that  a  blamed  white  stunt  for 


The  Thaw  at  Slisco's  115 

Swedes;  paying  for  their  lives  with  the  mine 
they  swindled  her  out  of. 

Anyhow,  it  knocked  us  galley- west. 

I'd  formulated  a  swell  climax,  involving  the 
discovery  of  the  mother,  when  the  mail  man 
spoke  up,  him  that  had  been  her  particular 
abomination,  a  queer  kind  of  a  break  in  his 
voice : 

"Come  out  of  that." 

Mrs.  Bradshaw  moved  out  into  the  light, 
and,  if  I'm  any  judge,  the  joy  that  showed  in 
her  face  rubbed  away  the  bitterness  of  the  past 
years.  With  an  aching  little  cry  the  girl  ran  to 
her,  and  hid  in  her  arms  like  a  quail. 

We  men-folks  got  accumulated  up  into  a 
dark  corner  where  we  shook  hands  and  swore 
soft  and  insincere,  and  let  our  throats  hurt,  for 
all  the  world  like  it  was  Christmas  or  we'd  got 
mail  from  home. 


BITTER  ROOT  BILLINGS,  ARBITER 


BITTER  ROOT  BILLINGS,   ARBITER 

Billings  rode  in  from  the  Junction  about 
dusk,  and  ate  his  supper  in  silence.  He'd  been 
East  for  sixty  days,  and,  although  there  lurked 
about  him  the  hint  of  unwonted  ventures, 
etiquette  forbade  its  mention.  You  see,  in 
our  country,  that  which  a  man  gives  volun 
tarily  is  ofttimes  later  dissected  in  smoky 
bunk-houses,  or  roughly  handled  round  flick 
ering  camp  fires,  but  the  privacies  he  guards  are 
inviolate.  Curiosity  isn't  exactly  a  lost  art,  but 
its  practice  isn't  popular  nor  hygenic. 

Later,  I  found  him  meditatively  whittling 
out  on  the  porch,  and,  as  the  moment  seemed 
propitious,  I  inquired  adroitly :  —  "  Did  you 
have  a  good  time  in  Chicago,  *  Bitter  Root'?" 

"Bully,"  said  he,  relapsing  into  weighty  ab 
sorption. 


120  PARDNERS 

"What'd  you  do?"  I  inquired  with  almost 
the  certainty  of  appearing  insistent. 

"Don't  you  never  read  the  papers?"  he  in 
quired,  with  such  evident  compassion  that 
"Kink"  Martin  and  the  other  boys  snickered. 
This  from  "Bitter  Root,"  who  scorns  litera 
ture  outside  of  the  "Arkansas  Printing,"  as 
he  terms  the  illustrations! 

"Guess  I'll  have  to  show  you  my  press 
notices,"  and  from  a  hip  pocket  he  produced 
a  fat  bundle  of  clippings  in  a  rubber  band. 
These  he  displayed  jealously,  and  I  stared 
agape,  for  they  were  front  pages  of  great  metro 
politan  dailies,  marred  with  red  and  black 
scare  heads,  in  which  I  glimpsed  the  words, 
"Billings,  of  Montana,"  "'Bitter  Root'  on 
Arbitration,"  "A  Lochinvar  Out  of  the 
West,"  and  other  things  as  puzzling. 

"Press  Notices!"  echoed  "Kink"  scorn 
fully.  "Wouldn't  that  rope  ye?  He  talks  like 
Big  Ike  that  went  with  the  Wild  West  Show. 
When  a  puncher  gets  so  lazy  he  can't  earn  a 
livin'  by  the  sweat  of  his  pony,  he  grows  his 


Bitter  Root  Billings,  Arbiter 

hair,  goes  on  the  stage  bustin'  glass  balls  with 
shot  ca'tridges  and  talks  about  'press  notices.' 
Let's  see  'em,  Billings.  You  pinch  'em  as  close 
to  your  stummick  as  though  you  held  cards  in 
a  strange  poker  game." 

"  Well,  I  have  set  in  a  strange  game,  amongst 
aliens,"  said  Billings,  disregarding  the  re 
quest,  "  and  I've  held  the  high  cards,  also  I've 
drawed  out  with  honours.  I've  sailed  the  me 
dium  high  seas  with  mutiny  in  the  stoke-hold; 
I've  changed  the  laws  of  labour,  politics  and 
municipal  economies.  I  went  out  of  God's 
country  right  into  the  heart  of  the  decayin' 
East,  and  by  the  application  of  a  runnin'  noose 
in  a  hemp  rope  I  strangled  oppression  and  put 
eight  thousand  men  to  work."  He  paused 
ponderously.  "I'm  an  Arbitrator!" 

"The  deuce  you  are,"  indignantly  cried 
"Reddy"  the  cook.  "Who  says  so  ?" 

"Reddy"  isn't  up  in  syntax,  and  his  un 
reasoning  loyalty  to  Billings  is  an  established 
fact  of  such  standing  that  his  remarks  afford 
no  conjecture. 


PARDNERS 

"Yes,  I've  cut  into  the  'Nation's  Peril'  and 
the  '  Cryin'  Evil '  good  and  strong  —  walkin' 
out  from  the  stinks  of  the  Union  Stock  Yards, 
of  Chicago,  into  the  limelight  of  publicity,  via 
the  'drunk  and  disorderly'  route. 

'You  see  I  got  those  ten  carloads  of  steers 
into  the  city  all  right,  but  I  was  so  blame  busy 
splatterin'  through  the  tracked-up  wastes  of 
the  cow  pens,  an'  inhalin'  the  sewer  gas  of  the 
west  side  that  I  never  got  to  see  a  newspaper. 
If  I'd  'a'  read  one,  here's  what  I'd  'a'  found, 
namely:  The  greatest,  stubbornest,  riotin'est 
strike  ever  known,  which  means  a  heap  for 
Chicago,  she  being  the  wet-nurse  of  labour 
trouble. 

"The  whole  river  front  was  tied  up.  Nary  a 
steamer  had  whistled  inside  the  six-mile  crib 
for  two  weeks,  and  eight  thousand  men  was 
out.  There  was  hold-ups  and  blood-sheddin* 
and  picketin',  which  last  is  an  alias  for  as 
sault  with  intents,  and  altogether  it  was  a 
prime  place  for  a  cowman,  on  a  quiet  vaca 
tion  —  just  homelike  and  natural. 


Bitter  Root  Billings,  Arbiter          123 

"It  was  at  this  point  that  I  enters,  bustin* 
out  of  the  smoke  of  the  Stock  Yards,  all  sweet 
and  beautiful,  like  the  gentle  heeroine  in  the 
play  as  she  walks  through  the  curtains  at  the 
back  of  the  stage. 

"Now  you  know  there's  a  heap  of  difference 
between  the  Stock  Yards  and  Chicago  —  it's 
just  like  coming  from  Arkansas  over  into  the 
United  States. 

"Well,  soon  as  I  sold  the  stock  I  hit  for  the 
lake  front  and  began  to  ground  sluice  the 
coal  dust  off  of  my  palate. 

"I  was  busy  working  my  booze  hydraulic 
when  I  see  an  arid  appearin'  pilgrim  'longside 
lookin'  thirsty  as  an  alkali  flat. 

"Get  in,'  says  I,  and  the  way  he  obeyed 
orders  looked  like  he'd  had  military  training. 
I  felt  sort  of  drawed  to  him  from  the  way  he 
handled  his  licker;  took  it  straight  and  run- 
nin'  over;  then  sopped  his  hands  on  the  bar 
and  smelled  of  his  fingers.  He  seemed  to  just 
soak  it  up  both  ways  —  reg'lar  human  blot 
ter. 


124  PARDNERS 

"'You  lap  it  up  like  a  man,'  says  I,  'like  a 
cowman  —  full  growed  —  ever  been  West  ? ' 

"'Nope/  says  he,  'born  here,' 

"'Well  I'm  a  stranger,'  says  I,  'out  ab- 
sorbin'  such  beauties  of  architecture  and  free 
lunch  as  offers  along  the  line.  If  I  ain't  keepin' 
you  up,  I'd  be  glad  of  your  company.' 

"I'm  your  assistant  lunch  buster,'  says  he, 
and  in  the  course  of  things  he  further  explained 
that  he  was  a  tugboat  fireman,  out  on  a  strike, 
givin'  me  the  follerin'  information  about  the 
tie-up :  — 

"  It  all  come  up  over  a  dose  of  dyspepsia  — " 

"Back  up,"  interrupted  "Kink"  squirm 
ing,  "are  you  plumb  bug?  Get  together! 
You're  certainly  the  Raving  Kid.  Ye  must 
have  stone  bruised  your  heel  and  got  conces 
sion  of  the  brain." 

"Yes  sir!  Indigestion,"  Billings  continued. 
"Old  man  Badrich,  of  the  Badrich  Trans 
portation  Company  has  it  terrible.  It  lands  on 
his  solar  every  morning  about  nine  o'clock, 
gettin'  worse  steady,  and  reaches  perihelion 


Bitter  Root  Billings,  Arbiter  125 

along  about  eleven.  He  can  tell  the  time  of 
day  by  taste.  One  morning  when  his  mouth 
felt  like  about  ten-forty-five  in  comes  a  com 
mittee  from  Firemen  &  Engineers  Local  No. 
21,  with  a  demand  for  more  wages,  proddin' 
him  with  the  intimations  that  if  he  didn't  ante 
they'd  tie  up  all  his  boats." 

"I  'spose  a  teaspoonful  of  bakin'  soda,  as 
similated  internally  around  the  environments 
of  his  appendix  would  have  spared  the  strike 
and  cheated  me  out  of  bein'  a  hero.  As  the  poet 
might  have  said  —  'Upon  such  slender  pegs  is 
this,  our  greatness  hung.' ' 

"Oh,  Gawd!"  exclaimed  Mullins,  piously. 

"Anyhow,  the  bitterness  in  the  old  man's 
inner  tubes  showed  in  the  bile  of  his  answer, 
and  he  told  'em  if  they  wanted  more  money 
he'd  give  'em  a  chance  to  earn  it  —  they  could 
work  nights  as  well  as  days.  He  intimated 
further  that  they'd  ought  to  be  satisfied  with 
their  wages  as  they'd  undoubtedly  foller  the 
same  line  of  business  in  the  next  world,  and 
wouldn't  get  a  cent  for  f eedin'  the  fires  neither. 


126  PARDNERS 

"Next  mornin'  the  strike  was  called,  and 
the  guy  that  breathed  treachery  and  walk-outs 
was  one  'Oily'  Heegan,  further  submerged 
under  the  titles  of  President  of  the  Federation 
of  Fresh  Water  Firemen ;  also  Chairman  of  the 
United  Water-front  Workmen,  which  last 
takes  in  everything  doin'  business  along  the 
river  except  the  wharf-rats  and  typhoid  germs, 
and  it's  with  the  disreputableness  of  this  party 
that  I  infected  myself  to  the  detriment  of 
labour  and  the  triumph  of  the  law. 

"D.  O'Hara  Heegan  is  an  able  man,  and 
inside  of  a  week  he'd  spread  the  strike  'till  it 
was  the  cleanest,  dirtiest  tie-up  ever  known. 
The  hospitals  and  morgues  was  full  of  non 
union  men,  but  the  river  was  empty  all 
right.  Yes,  he  had  a  persuadin'  method  of 
arbitration  quite  convincing  to  the  most 
calloused,  involving  the  layin*  on  of  the  lead 
pipe. 

"Things  got  to  be  pretty  fierce  bye-and-bye, 
for  they  had  the  police  buffaloed,  and  dis 
turbances  got  plentyer  than  the  casualities 


Bitter  Root  Billings,  Arbiter  127 

at  a  butchers'  picnic.  The  strikers  got  hungry, 
too,  finally,  because  the  principles  of  unionism 
is  like  a  rash  on  your  mechanic,  skin  deep —  in 
side,  his  gastrics  works  three  shifts  a  day 
even  if  his  outsides  is  idle  and  steaming  with 
Socialism. 

8 'Oily'  fed  'em  dray  loads  of  eloquence, 
but  it  didn't  seem  to  be  real  fillin'.  They'd 
leave  the  lectures  and  rob  a  bakery. 

"He  was  a  wonder  though;  just  sat  in  his 
office,  and  kept  the  ship  owners  waitin'  in  line, 
swearin'  bitter  and  refined  cuss-words  about 
'ignorant  fiend'  and  'cussed  pedagogue/ 
which  last,  for  'Kink's'  enlightenment,  means 
a  kind  of  Hebrew  meetin'-house. 

"These  here  details  my  new  friend  give  me, 
ending  with  a  eulogy  on  'Oily'  Heegan,  the 
Idol  of  the  Idle. 

"  If  he  says  starve,  we  starve,'  says  he, '  and 
if  he  says  work,  we  work.  See!  Oh  he's  the 
goods,  he  is!  Let's  go  down  by  the  river — • 
mebbe  we'll  see  him.'  So  me  and  Murdock 
hiked  down  Water  Street,  where  they  keep 


128  PARDNERS 

mosquito  netting  over  the  bar  fixtures  and 
spit  at  the  stove. 

"We  found  him,  a  big  mouthed,  shifty, 
kind  of  man,  'bout  as  cynical  lookin'  in  the 
face  as  a  black  bass,  and  full  of  wind  as  a  toad 
fish.  I  exchanged  drinks  for  principles  of  so 
cialism,  and  doin'  so  happened  to  display  my 
roll.  Murdock  slipped  away  and  made  talk 
with  a  friend,  then,  when  Heegan  had  left,  he 
steers  me  out  the  back  way  into  an  alley. 
' Short  cut/  says  he  'to  another  and  a  better 
place.' 

"I  f oilers  through  a  back  room;  then  as  1 
steps  out  the  door  I'm  grabbed  by  this  new 
friend,  while  Murdock  bathes  my  head  with 
a  gas-pipe  billy,  one  of  the  regulation,  strike 
promotin'  kind,  like  they  use  for  decoyin'  mem 
bers  into  the  glorious  ranks  of  Labour. 

"I  saw  a  'Burning  of  Rome'  that  was  a 
dream,  and  whole  cloudbursts  of  shootin' 
stars,  but  I  yanked  Mr.  Enthusiastic  Stranger 
away  from  my  surcingle  and  throwed  him 
agin  the  wall.  In  the  shuffle  Murdock  shifts 


Bitter  Root  Billings,  Arbiter          129 

my  ballasts  though,  and  steams  up  the  alley 
with  my  greenbacks,  convoyed  by  his  friend. 

"'  Wow-ow,'  says  I,  givin'  the  distress  signal 
so  that  the  windows  rattled,  and  reachin'  for 
my  holster.  I'd  'a'  got  them  both,  only  the  gun 
caught  in  my  suspender.  You  see,  not  antici- 
patin'  any  live  bird  shoot  I'd  put  it  inside  my 
pants-band,  under  my  vest,  for  appearances. 
A  forty-five  is  like  fresh  air  to  a  drownding 
man  —  generally  has  to  be  drawed  in  haste  — 
and  neither  one  shouldn't  be  mislaid.  I  got  her 
out  at  last  and  blazed  away,  just  a  second  after 
they  dodged  around  the  corner.  Then  I  hit  the 
trail  after  'em,  lettin'  go  a  few  sky-shots  and 
gettin'  a  ghost-dance  holler  off  my  stummick 
that  had  been  troubling  me.  The  wallop  on 
the  head  made  me  dizzy  though,  and  I  zig 
zagged  awful,  tackin'  out  of  the  alley  right 
into  a  policeman. 

'Wheel'  says  I  in  joy,  for  he  had  Murdock 
safe  by  the  bits,  buckin'  consid'rable. 

"Stan'  aside  and  le'mme  'lectrocute  'im,' 
says  I.  I  throwed  the  gun  on  him  and  the 


130  PARDNERS 

crowd  dogged  it  into  all  the  doorways  and 
windows  convenient,  but  I  was  so  weak-mind 
ed  in  the  knees  I  stumbled  over  the  curb  and 
fell  down. 

"Next  thing  I  knew  we  was  all  bouncin' 
over  the  cobble-stones  in  a  patrol  wagon. 

16  Well,  in  the  morning  I  told  my  story  to  the 
Judge,  plain  and  unvarnished.  Then  Murdock 
takes  the  stand  and  busts  into  song,  claiming 
that  he  was  comin'  through  the  alley  toward 
Clark  Street  when  I  staggered  out  back  of  a 
saloon  and  commenced  to  shoot  at  him.  He 
saw  I  was  drunk,  and  fanned  out,  me  shootin' 
at  him  with  every  jump.  He  had  proof,  he  said, 
and  he  called  for  the  president  of  his  Union, 
Mr.  Heegan.  At  the  name  all  the  loafers  and 
stew-bums  in  the  court-room  stomped  and 
said,  'Hear,  hear,'  while  up  steps  this  Napo 
leon  of  the  Hoboes. 

"  Sure,  he  knew  Mr.  Murdock  —  had  known 
him  for  years,  and  he  was  perfectly  reliable 
and  honest.  As  to  his  robbing  me,  it  was  pre 
posterous,  because  he  himself  was  at  the  other 


Bitter  Root  Billings,  Arbiter  131 

end  of  the  alley  and  saw  the  whole  thing,  just 
as  Mr.  Murdock  related  it. 

"I  jumps  up.  'You're  a  liar,  Heegan.  I  was 
buyin'  booze  for  the  two  of  you ; '  but  a  police 
man  nailed  me,  chokin'  off  my  rhetorics.  Mr. 
Heegan  leans  over  and  whispers  to  the  Judge, 
while  I  got  chilblains  along  my  spine. 

"'Look  here,  kind  Judge,'  says  I  real  win 
ning  and  genteel,  'this  man  is  so  good  at  ex- 
plainin'  things  away,  ask  him  to  talk  off  this 
bump  over  my  ear.  I  surely  didn't  get  a  buggy 
spoke  and  laminate  myself  on  the  nut. 

'"That'll  do,'  says  the  Judge.  'Mr.  Clerk, 
ten  dollars  and  costs  —  charge,  drunk  and 
disorderly.  Next!'  •» 

'"Hold  on  there,'  says  I,  ignorant  of  the  in 
volutions  of  justice,  '  I  guess  I've  got  the  bulge 
on  you  this  time.  They  beat  you  to  me,  Judge. 
I  ain't  got  a  cent.  You  can  go  through  me  and 
be  welcome  to  half  you  find.  I'll  mail  you  ten 
when  I  get  home  though,  honest.' 

"At  that  the  audience  giggled,  and  the 
Judge  says: — 


132  PARDNERS 

" '  Your  humour  doesn't  appeal  to  me,  Mr. 
Billings.  Of  course,  you  have  the  privilege  of 
working  it  out.'  Oh,  Glory,  the  'Privilege!' 

"  Heegan  nodded  at  this,  and  I  realized  what 
I  was  against. 

"  *  Your  honour,'  says  I  with  sarcastic  refine 
ments,  *  science  tells  us  that  a  perfect  vacuum 
ain't  possible,  but  after  watching  you  I  know 
better,  and  for  you,  Mr.  Workingman's 
Friend, —  us  to  the  floor,'  and  I  run  at  Heegan. 

"Pshaw!  I  never  got  started,  nor  I  didn't 
rightfully  come  to  till  I  rested  in  the  work 
house,  which  last  figger  of  speech  is  a  pure  and 
beautiful  paradox. 

"I  ain't  dwellin'  with  glee  on  the  next 
twenty-six  days  —  ten  dollars  and  costs,  at 
four  bits  a  day,  but  I  left  there  saturated  with 
such  hatreds  for  Heegan  that  my  breath  smell- 
ed  of  'em. 

"  I  wanders  down  the  river  front,  hoping  the 
fortunes  of  war  would  deliver  him  to  me  dead 
or  alive,  when  the  thought  hit  me  that  I'd  need 
money.  It  was  bound  to  take  another  ten  and 


Bitter  Root  Billings,  Arbiter          133 

costs  shortly  after  we  met,  and  probably  more, 
if  I  paid  for  what  I  got,  for  I  figgered  on  dis- 
tendin'  myself  with  satisfaction  and  his  feat 
ures  with  uppercuts.  Then  I  see  a  sign,  'Non- 
Union  men  wanted  —  Big  wages.'  In  I  goes, 
and  strains  my  langwidge  through  a  wire  net 
at  the  cashier. 

"  *  I  want  them  big  wages,'  says  I. 

"'  What  can  you  do?' 

"'Anything  to  get  the  money,'  says  I.  'What 
does  it  take  to  liquidate  an  assault  on  a  labour 
leader?' 

"  There  was  a  white-haired  man  in  the  cage 
who  began  to  sit  up  and  take  notice. 

"'What's  your  trouble?'  says  he,  and  I 
told  him. 

" '  If  we  had  a  few  more  like  you,  we'd  bust 
the  strike,'  says  he,  kind  of  sizin'  me  up.  'I've 
got  a  notion  to  try  it  anyhow,'  and  he  smites 
the  desk.  '  Collins  what  d'ye  say  if  we  tow  the 
"Detroit  "out?  Her  crew  has  stayed  with  us  so 
far,  and  they'll  stick  now  if  we'll  say  the  word. 
The  unions  are  hungry  and  scrapping  among 


134  PARDNERS 

themselves,  and  the  men  want  to  go  back  to 
work.  It's  just  that  devil  of  a  Heegan  that  holds 
'em.  If  they  see  we've  got  a  tug  crew  that'll  go, 
they'll  arbitrate,  and  we'll  kill  the  strike.  * 

"'Yes,  sir!'  says  Collins,  'but  where's  the 
tug  crew,  Mr.  Badrich  ?  ' 

"'Right  here!  We  three,  and  Murphy,  the 
bookkeeper.  Blast  this  idleness!  I  want  to 


"'I'll  take  the  same,'  says  I,  'when  I  get 
the  price.' 

"  *  That's  all  right.  You've  put  the  spirit  into 
me,  and  I'll  see  you  through.  Can  you  run  an 
engine?  Good!  I'll  take  the  wheel,  and  the 
others'll  fire.  It's  going  to  be  risky  work, 
though.  You  won't  back  out,  eh  ?" 

Reddy  interrupted  Billings  here  loudly, 
with  a  snort  of  disgust,  while  "Bitter  Root" 
ran  his  fingers  through  his  hair  before  con 
tinuing.  Martin  was  listening  intently. 

"The  old  man  arranged  to  have  a  squad  of 
cops  on  all  the  bridges,  and  I  begin  antici- 
patin'  hilarities  for  next  day. 


Bitter  Root  Billings,  Arbiter  135 

"The  news  got  out  of  course,  through  the 
secrecies  of  police  headquarters,  and  when  we 
ran  up  the  river  for  our  tow,  it  looked  like  every 
striker  west  of  Pittsburg  had  his  family  on  the 
docks  to  see  the  barbecue,  accompanied  by 
enough  cobble-stones  and  scrap  iron  to  ballast 
a  battleship.  All  we  got  goin'  up  was  repar 
tee,  but  I  figgered  we'd  need  armour  gettin' 
back. 

"  We  passed  a  hawser  to  the 'Detroit,'  and  I 
turned  the  gas  into  the  tug,  blowin'  for  the 
Wells  Street  Bridge.  Then  war  began.  I  leans 
out  the  door  just  in  time  to  see  the  mob 
charge  the  bridge.  The  cops  clubbed  'em  back, 
while  a  roar  went  up  from  the  docks  and  roof 
tops  that  was  like  a  bad  dream.  I  couldn't  see 
her  move  none  though,  and  old  man  Badrich 
blowed  again  expurgatin'  himself  of  as  nobby 
a  line  of  cuss  words  as  you'll  muster  outside 
the  cattle  belt. 

"'Soak  'em,'  I  yells,  'give  'em  all  the  arbi 
tration  you've  got  handy.  If  she  don't  open; 
we'll  jump  her/  and  I  lets  out  another  notch, 


136  PARDNERS 

so  that  we  went  plowin'  and  boilin'  towards 
the  draw. 

"It  looked  like  we'd  have  to  hurdle  it  sure 
enough,  but  the  police  beat  the  crowd  back 
just  in  time.  She  wasn't  clear  open  though,  and 
our  barge  caromed  off  the  spiles.  It  was  like  a 
nigger  buttin'  a  persimmon  tree  —  we  rattled 
off  a  shower  of  missiles  like  an  abnormal  hail 
storm.  Talk  about  your  coast  defence;  they 
heaved  everything  at  us  from  bad  names  to 
railroad  iron,  and  we  lost  all  our  window  glass 
the  first  clatter,  while  the  smoke  stack  looked 
like  a  pretzel  with  cramps. 

"When  we  scraped  through  I  looked  back 
with  pity  at  the  'Detroit's'  crew.  She  hadn't 
any  wheel  house,  and  the  helmsman  was  due  to 
get  all  the  attention  that  was  comin'  to  him. 
They'd  built  up  a  barricade  of  potato  sacks, 
chicken  coops  and  bic-a-brac  around  the  wheel 
that  protected  'em  somewhat,  but  even  while  I 
watched,  some  Polack  filtered  a  brick  through 
and  laid  out  the  quartermaster  cold,  and  he 
was  drug  off.  Oh!  it  was  refined  and  esthetic. 


Bitter  Root  Billings,  Arbiter  137 

"Well,  we  run  the  gauntlet,  presented  every 
block  with  stuff  rangin'  in  tensile  strength 
from  insults  to  asphalt  pavements,  and  noise! 
—  say,  all  the  racket  in  the  world  was  a  whisper. 
I  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  old  man  leanin'  out 
of  the  pilot  house,  where  a  window  had  been, 
his  white  hair  bristly,  and  his  nostrils  h'isted, 
embellishin'  the  air  with  surprisin'  flights  of 
gleeful  profanity. 

"'Hooray!  this  is  livin'  he  yells,  spyin'  me 
shovelin'  the  deck  out  from  under  the  junk. 
*Best  scrap  I've  had  in  years,'  and  just  then 
some  baseball  player  throwed  in  from  centre 
field,  catching  him  in  the  neck  with  a  tomato. 
Gee!  that  man's  an  honour  to  the  faculty  of 
speech. 

"  I  was  doin'  bully  till  a  cobble-stone  bounc 
ed  into  the  engine  room,  makin'  a  billiard  with 
my  off  knee,  then  I  got  kind  of  peevish. 

"Rush  Street  Bridge  is  the  last  one,  and 
they'd  massed  there  on  both  sides,  like  fleas  on 
a  razorback.  Thinks  I, '  If  we  make  it  through 
here,  we've  busted  the  strike,'  and  I  glances 


138  PARDNERS 

back  at  the  'Detroit'  just  in  time  to  see  her  crew 
pullin'  their  captain  into  the  deck  house,  limp 
and  bleedin'.  The  barricade  was  all  knocked 
to  pieces  and  they'd  flunked  absolute.  Don't 
blame  'em  much  either,  as  it  was  sure  death 
to  stand  out  in  the  open  under  the  rain  of  stuff 
that  come  from  the  bridges.  Of  course  with  no 
steerin'  she  commenced  to  swing  off. 

"I  jumps  out  the  far  side  of  the  engine 
room  and  yells  fit  to  bust  my  throat. 

"'Grab  that  wheel!  Grab  it  quick  —  we'll 
hit  the  bridge,'  but  it  was  like  deef  and  dumb 
talk  in  a  boiler  shop,  while  a  wilder  howl  went 
up  from  the  water  front  as  they  seen  what 
they'd  done  and  smelled  victory.  There's  an 
awfulness  about  the  voice  of  a  blood-mad 
dened  club-swingin'  mob;  it  lifts  your  scalp 
like  a  fright  wig,  particularly  if  you  are  the 
clubee. 

"'We've  got  one  chance,'  thinks  I,  'but  if 
she  strikes  we're  gone.  They'll  swamp  us  sure, 
and  all  the  police  in  Cook  County  won't  save 
enough  for  to  hold  services  on/  Then  I  throw- 


Bitter  Root  Billings,  Arbiter          139 

ed  a  look  at  the  opening  ahead  and  the  pessim 
isms  froze  in  me. 

"  I  forgot  all  about  the  resiliency  of  brickbats 
and  the  table  manners  of  riots,  for  there,  on  top 
of  a  bunch  of  spiles,  ca'm,  masterful  and 
bloated  with  perjuries,  was  'Oily'  Heegan 
dictatin'  the  disposition  of  his  forces,  the  light 
of  victory  in  his  shifty,  little  eyes. 

'Ten  dollars  and  costs,5  I  shrieks,  seein' 
red. '  Lemme  crawl  up  them  spiles  to  you.' 

"Then  inspiration  seized  me.  My  soul  riz  up 
and  grappled  with  the  crisis,  for  right  under 
my  mit,  coiled,  suggestive  and  pleadin',  was 
one  of  the  tug's  heavin'  lines,  'bout  a  three- 
eighths  size.  I  slips  a  runnin'  knot  in  the  end 
and  divides  the  coils,  crouchin'  behind  the 
deck-house  till  we  come  abeam  of  him,  then  I 
straightened,  give  it  a  swinging  heave,  and  the 
noose  sailed  up  and  settled  over  him  fine  and 
daisy. 

"I  jerked  back,  and  'Oily'  Heegan  did  a 
high  dive  from  Rush  Street  that  was  a  geo 
metrical  joy.  He  hit  kind  of  amateurish,  doin' 


140  PARDNERS 

what  we  used  to  call  a  'belly-buster'  back 
home,  but  quite  satisfyin'  for  a  maiden  effort, 
and  I  reeled  him  in  astern. 

'Your  Chicago  man  ain't  a  gamey  fish. 
He  come  up  tame  and  squirting  sewage 
like  a  dissolute  porpoise,  while  I  played 
him  out  where  he'd  get  the  thrash  of  the 
propeller. 

"Help,'  he  yells,  'I'm  a  drownding.' 

"'Ten  dollars  and  costs,'  says  I,  lettin'  him 
under  again.  '  Do  you  know  who  you're  drink- 
in'  with  this  time,  hey  ?' 

"I  reckon  the  astonishment  of  the  mob  was 
equal  to  Heegan's;  anyhow  I'm  told  that  we 
was  favoured  with  such  quietness  that  my 
voice  sounded  four  blocks,  simply  achin'  with 
satisfactions.  Then  pandemonium  tore  loose, 
but  I  was  so  engrosed  in  sweet  converse  I  never 
heard  it  or  noticed  that  the  '  Detroit '  had  slid 
through  the  draw  by  a  hair,  and  we  was  bound 
for  the  blue  and  smilin'  lake. 

" '  For  God's  sake,  lemme  up,'  says  Heegan, 
splashin'  along  and  lookin'  strangly.  I  hauls 


Bitter  Root  Billings,  Arbiter  141 

him  in  where  he  wouldn't  miss  any  of  my  iron 
ies,  and  says :  — 

"'I  just  can't  do  it,  "Oily"—  it's  wash  day. 
You're  plumb  nasty  with  boycotts  and  pick- 
etin's  and  compulsory  arbitrations.  I'm  goin' 
to  clean  you  up,'  and  I  sozzled  him  under  like 
a  wet  shirt. 

"  I  drug  him  out  again  and  continues :  — 

"'This  is  Chinamen's  work,  "Oily,"  but  I 
lost  my  pride  in  the  Bridewell,  thanks  to  you. 
It's  tough  on  St.  Louis  to  laundry  you  up 
stream  this  way,  but  maybe  the  worst  of  your 
heresies  '11  be  purified  when  they  get  that  far.' 
You  know  the  Chicago  River  runs  up  hill  out 
of  Lake  Michigan  through  the  drainage  canal 
and  into  the  St.  Louis  waterworks.  Sure  it 
does  —  most  unnatural  stream  I  ever  see  about 
direction  and  smells. 

"I  was  gettin'  a  good  deal  of  enjoyment 
and  infections  out  of  him  when  old  man 
Badrich  ran  back  enamelled  with  blood  and 
passe  tomato  juice,  the  red  in  his  white 
hair  makin'  his  top  look  like  one  of  these 


142  PARDNERS 

fancy  ice-cream  drinks  you  get  at  a  soda 
fountain. 

"'Here!  here!  you'll  kill  him,'  says  he,  so  I 
hauled  him  aboard,  drippin'  and  clingy, 
wringin'  him  out  good  and  thorough  —  by  the 
neck.  He  made  a  fine  mop. 

"These  clippings,"  continued  "Bitter 
Root,"  fishing  into  his  pocket,  "tell  in  beauti 
ful  figgers  how  the  last  seen  of  'Oily'  Heegan 
he  was  holystoning  the  deck  of  a  sooty  little 
tugboat  under  the  admonishments  and  feet  of 
*  Bitter  Root'  Billings  of  Montana,  and  they 
state  how  the  strikers  tried  to  get  tugs  for  pur 
suit  and  couldn't,  and  how,  all  day  long,  from 
the  housetops  was  visible  a  tugboat  madly 
cruisin'  about  inside  the  outer  cribs,  bustin' 
the  silence  with  joyful  blasts  of  victory,  and 
they'll  further  state  that  about  dark  she  steam 
ed  up  the  river,  tired  and  draggled,  with  a 
bony-lookin'  cowboy  inhalin'  cigareets  on  the 
stern-bits,  holding  a  three-foot  knotted  rope  in 
his  lap.  When  a  delegation  of  strikers  met  her, 
inquirin'  about  one  D.  O'Hara  Heegan,  it  says 


Bitter  Root  Billings,  Arbiter          143 

like  this,"  and   Billings    read   laboriously  as 
follows :  — 

"'Then  the  bronzed  and  lanky  man  arose 
with  a  smile  of  rare  contentment,  threw  over 
board  his  cigarette,  and  approaching  the 
boiler-room  hatch,  called  loudly:  "Come  out 
of  that, "  and  the  President  of  the  Federation  of 
Fresh  Water  Firemen  dragged  himself  wearily 
out  into  the  flickering  lights.  He  was  black 
and  drenched  and  streaked  with  sweat ;  also,  he 
shone  with  the  grease  and  oils  of  the  engines, 
while  the  palms  of  his  hands  were  covered  with 
painful  blisters  from  unwonted,  intimate  con 
tact  with  shovels  and  drawbars.  It  was  seen 
that  he  winced  fearfully  as  the  cowboy  twirled 
the  rope  end. 

"  '  "  He's  got  the  makin's  of  a  fair  fireman,'  : 
said  the  stranger,  "  'all  he  wants  is  practice." 

"Then,  as  the  delegation  murmured  an 
grily,  he  held  up  his  hand  and,  in  the  ensuing 
silence,  said :  — 

"  '  "  Boys,  the  strike's  over.  Mr.  Heegan  has 
arbitrated.'"" 


THE    SHYNESS  OF   SHORTY 


THE  SHYNESS  OF  SHORTY 

Bailey  smoked  morosely  as  he  scanned  the 
dusty  trail  leading  down  across  the  "bottom" 
and  away  over  the  dry  grey  prairie  toward  the 
hazy  mountains  in  the  west. 

From  his  back-tilted  chair  on  the  veranda, 
the  road  was  visible  for  miles,  as  well  as  the 
river  trail  from  the  south,  sneaking  up  through 
the  cottonwoods  and  leprous  sycamores. 

He  called  gruffly  into  the  silence  of  the 
house,  and  his  speech  held  the  surliness  of  his 
attitude. 

"  Hoi  Joy!  Bar  X  outfit  comin'.  Git  supper. " 

A  Chinaman  appeared  in  the  door  and  gazed 
at  the  six-mule  team  descending  the  distant 
gully  to  the  ford. 

"Jesse  one  man,  hey?  All  light,"  and  slid 
quietly  back  to  the  kitchen. 


148  PARDNERS 

Whatever  might  be  said,  or,  rather,  what 
ever  might  be  suspected,  of  Bailey's  road-house 
—  for  people  did  not  run  to  wordy  conjecture 
in  this  country  —  it  was  known  that  it  boasted 
a  good  cook,  and  this  atoned  for  a  catalogue  of 
shortcomings.  So  it  waxed  popular  among 
the  hands  of  the  big  cattle  ranges  near-bye. 
Those  given  to  idle  talk  held  that  Bailey  acted 
strangely  at  times,  and  rumour  painted  occa 
sional  black  doings  at  the  hacienda,  squatting 
vulture-like  above  the  ford,  but  it  was  nobody's 
business,  and  he  kept  a  good  cook. 

Bailey  did  not  recall  the  face  that  greeted 
him  from  above  the  three  span  as  they  swung 
in  front  of  his  corral,  but  the  brand  on  their 
flanks  was  the  Bar  X,  so  he  nodded  with  as 
near  an  approach  to  hospitality  as  he  per 
mitted. 

It  was  a  large  face,  strong-featured  and 
rugged,  balanced  on  wide,  square  shoulders, 
yet  some  oddness  of  posture  held  the  gaze  of 
the  other  till  the  stranger  clambered  over  the 
wheel  to  the  ground.  Then  Bailey  removed 


The  Shyness  of  Shorty  149 

his  brier  and  heaved  tempestuously  in  the 
throes  of  great  and  silent  mirth. 

It  was  a  dwarf.  The  head  of  a  Titan,  the 
body  of  a  whisky  barrel,  rolling  ludicrously  on 
the  tiny  limbs  of  a  bug,  presented  so  startling 
a  sight  that  even  Hot  Joy,  appearing  around 
the  corner,  cackled  shrilly.  His  laughter  rose 
to  a  shriek  of  dismay,  however,  as  the  little  man 
made  at  him  with  the  rush  and  roar  of  a  can 
non  ball.  In  Bailey's  amazed  eyes  he  seemed  to 
bounce  galvanically,  landing  on  Joy's  back 
with  such  vicious  suddenness  that  the  breath 
fled  from  him  in  a  squawk  of  terror;  then, 
seizing  his  cue,  he  kicked  and  belaboured  the 
prostrate  Celestial  in  feverish  silence.  He  de 
sisted  and  rolled  across  the  porch  to  Bailey. 
Staring  truculently  up  at  the  landlord,  he 
spoke  for  the  first  time. 

"Was  I  right  in  supposin'  that  something 
amused  you?" 

Bailey  gasped  incredulously,  for  the  voice 
rumbled  heavily  an  octave  below  his  own  bass. 
Either  the  look  of  the  stocky  catapult,  as  he 


150  PARDNERS 

launched  himself  on  the  fleeing  servant,  or  the 
invidious  servility  of  the  innkeeper,  sobered  the 
landlord,  and  he  answered  gravely : 

"No,  sir;  I  reckon  you're  mistaken.  I  ain't 
observed  anything  frivolous  yet." 

"Glad  of  it,"  said  the  little  man.  "I  don't 
like  a  feller  to  hog  a  joke  all  by  himself.  Some  of 
the  Bar  X  boys  took  to  absorbin'  humour  out 
of  my  shape  when  I  first  went  to  work,  but 
they're  sort  of  educated  out  of  it  now.  I  got  an 
eye  from  one  and  a  finger  off  of  another;  the 
last  one  donated  a  ear." 

Bailey  readily  conceived  this  man  as  a  bad 
antagonist,  for  the  heavy  corded  neck  had  split 
buttons  from  the  blue  shirt,  and  he  glimpsed  a 
chest  hairy,  and  round  as  a  drum,  while  the 
brown  arms  showed  knotty  and  hardened. 

"Let's  liquor, "  he  said,  and  led  the  way  into 
the  big,  low  room,  serving  as  bar,  dining-  and 
living-room.  From  the  rear  came  vicious 
clatterings  and  slammings  of  pots,  mingled 
with  Oriental  lamentations,  indicating  an  ach 
ing  body  rather  than  a  chastened  spirit. 


The  Shyness  of  Shorty  151 

"Don't  see  you  often,"  he  continued,  with  a 
touch  of  implied  curiosity,  which  grew  as  his 
guest,  with  lingering  fondness,  up-ended  a 
glass  brimful  of  the  raw,  fiery  spirits. 

"No,  the  old  man  don't  lemme  get  away 
much.  He  knows  that  dwellin'  close  to  the 
ground,  as  I  do,  I  pine  for  spiritual  elevation," 
with  a  melting  glance  at  the  bottles  behind  the 
bar,  doing  much  to  explain  the  size  of  his  first 
drink. 

"Like  it,  do  ye?"  questioned  Bailey  indi 
cating  the  shelf. 

"Well,  not  exactly!  Booze  is  like  air  —  I 
need  it.  It  makes  a  new  man  out  of  me  —  and 
usually  ends  by  gettin'  both  me  and  the  new 
one  laid  off." 

"  Didn't  hear  nothing  of  the  weddin'  over  at 
Los  Huecos,  did  ye?" 

"No!  Whose  weddin'?" 

"Ross  Turney,  the  new  sheriff." 

"Ye  don't  say!  Him  that's  been  elected  on 
purpose  to  round  up  the  Tremper  gang,  hey  ? 
Who's  his  antagonist  ?" 


152  PARDNERS 

"Old  man  Miller's  gal.  He's  celebratin'  his 
election  by  gettin'  spliced.  I  been  expectin'  of 
'em  across  this  way  to-night,  but  I  guess  they 
took  the  Black  Butte  trail.  You  heard  what  he 
said,  didn't  ye?  Claims  that  inside  of  ninety 
days  he'll  rid  the  county  of  the  Trempers  and 
give  the  reward  to  his  wife  for  a  bridal  present. 
Five  thousand  dollars  on  'em,  you  know." 
Bailey  grinned  evilly  and  continued:  "Say! 
Marsh  Tremper'll  ride  up  to  his  house  some 
night  and  make  him  eat  his  own  gun  in  front  of 
his  bride,  see  if  he  don't.  Then  there'll  be  cause 
for  an  inquest  and  an  election. "  He  spoke  with 
what  struck  the  teamster  as  unnecessary  heat. 

"  Dunno, "  said  the  other;  " Turney's  a  brash 
young  feller,  I  hear,  but  he's  game.  'Tain't  any 
of  my  business,  though,  and  I  don't  want  none 
of  his  contrac'.  I'm  violently  addicted  to  peace 
and  quiet,  I  am.  Guess  I'll  unhitch,"  and  he 
toddled  out  into  the  gathering  dusk  to  his 
mules,  while  the  landlord  peered  uneasily 
down  the  darkening  trail. 

As  the  saddened  Joy  lit  candles  in  the  front 


The  Shyness  of  Shorty  153 

room  there  came  the  rattle  of  wheels  without, 
and  a  buckboard  stopped  in  the  bar  of  light 
from  the  door.  Bailey's  anxiety  was  replaced 
by  a  mask  of  listless  surprise  as  the  voice  of 
Ross  Turney  called  to  him. 

"Hello  there,  Bailey!  Are  we  in  time  for 
supper?  If  not,  I'll  start  an  insurrection  with 
that  Boxer  of  yours.  He's  got  to  turn  out  the 
snortingest  supper  of  the  season  to-night.  It 
isn't  every  day  your  shack  is  honoured  by  a 
bride.  Mr.  Bailey,  this  is  my  wife,  since  ten 
o'clock  A.M."  He  introduced  a  blushing,  happy 
girl,  evidently  in  the  grasp  of  many  emotions. 
"We'll  stay  all  night,  I  guess," 

"Sure,"  said  Bailey.  "I'll  show  ye  a  room," 
and  he  led  them  up  beneath  the  low  roof  where 
an  unusual  cleanliness  betrayed  the  industry  of 
Joy. 

The  two  men  returned  and  drank  to  the 
bride,  Turney  with  the  reckless  lightness  that 
distinguished  him,  Bailey  sullen  and  watchful. 

"Got  another  outfit  here,  haven't  you?" 
questioned  the  bridegroom.  "Who  is  it?" 


154  PARDNERS 

Before  answer  could  be  made,  from  the 
kitchen  arose  a  tortured  howl  and  the  smash 
ing  of  dishes,  mingled  with  stormy  rumblings. 
The  door  burst  inward,  and  an  agonized  Joy 
fled,  flapping  out  into  the  night,  while  behind 
him  rolled  the  caricature  from  Bar  X. 

"  I  just  stopped  for  a  drink  of  water, "  boom 
ed  the  dwarf,  then  paused  at  the  twitching  face 
of  the  sheriff. 

He  swelled  ominously,  like  a  great  pigeon, 
purple  and  congested  with  rage.  Strutting  to 
the  new-comer,  he  glared  insolently  up  into  his 
smiling  face. 

"  What  are  ye  laughin'  at,  ye  shavetail  ?"  His 
hands  were  clenched,  till  his  arms  showed 
tense  and  rigid,  and  the  cords  in  his  neck  were 
thickly  swollen. 

"Lemme  in  on  it,  I'm  strong  on  humour. 
What  in  --  ails  ye?"  he  yelled,  in  a  fury,  as 
the  tall  young  man  gazed  fixedly,  and  the 
glasses  rattled  at  the  bellow  from  the  barreled- 
up  lungs. 

"I'm  not  laughing  at  you,"  said  the  sheriff. 


The  Shyness  of  Shorty  155 

"Oh,  ain't  ye?"  mocked  the  man  of  peace. 
66  Well,  take  care  that  ye  don't,  ye  big  wart,  or 
I'll  trample  them  new  clothes  and  browse 
around  on  some  of  your  features.  I'll  take  ye 
apart  till  ye  look  like  cut  feed.  Guess  ye  don't 
know  who  I  am,  do  ye  ?  I'm  —  ' 

"Who  is  this  man,  Ross  ?"  came  the  anxious 
voice  of  the  bride,  descending  the  stairs. 

The  little  man  spun  like  a  dancer,  and,  spy 
ing  the  girl,  blushed  to  the  colour  of  a  prickly 
pear,  then  stammered  painfully,  while  the  sweat 
stood  out  under  the  labour  of  his  discomfort: 

"Just  'Shorty,'  Miss,"  he  finally  quavered. 
"Plain  'Shorty'  of  the  Bar  X  —  er  —  a  mis 
erable,  crawlin'  worm  for  disturbin'  of  you." 
He  rolled  his  eyes  helplessly  at  Bailey,  while  he 
sopped  with  his  crumpled  sombrero  at  the 
glistening  perspiration. 

"Why  didn't  ye  tell  me?"  he  whispered 
ferociously  at  the  host,  and  the  volume  of  his 
query  carried  to  Joy,  hiding  out  in  the  night. 

"Mr.  Shorty,"  said  the  sheriff  gravely;  "let 
me  introduce  my  wife,  Mrs.  Turney." 


156  PARDNERS 

The  bride  smiled  sweetly  at  the  tremulous 
little  man,  who  broke  and  fled  to  a  high  bench 
in  the  darkest  corner,  where  he  dangled  his 
short  legs  in  a  silent  ecstasy  of  bashfulness. 

"  I  reckon  I'll  have  to  rope  that  Chink,  then 
blindfold  and  back  him  into  the  kitchen,  if  we 
git  any  supper,"  said  Bailey,  disappearing. 

Later  the  Chinaman  stole  in  to  set  the  table, 
but  he  worked  with  hectic  and  fitful  energy,  a 
fearful  eye  always  upon  the  dim  bulk  in  the 
corner,  and  at  a  fancied  move  he  shook  with  an 
ague  of  apprehension.  Backing  and  sidling,  he 
finally  announced  the  meal,  prepared  to  stam 
pede  madly  at  notice. 

During  the  supper  Shorty  ate  ravenously  of 
whatever  lay  to  his  hand,  but  asked  no  favours. 
The  agony  of  his  shyness  paralysed  his  huge 
vocal  muscles  till  speech  became  a  labour  quite 
impossible. 

To  a  pleasant  remark  of  the  bride  he  re 
sponded,  but  no  sound  issued,  then  breathing 
heavily  into  his  larynx,  the  reply  roared  upon 
them  like  a  burst  of  thunder,  seriously  threat- 


The  Shyness  of  Shorty  157 

ening  the  gravity  of  the  meal.  He  retired  ab 
ruptly  into  moist  and  self-conscious  silence, 
fearful  of  feasting  his  eyes  on  this  disturbing 
loveliness. 

As  soon  as  compatible  with  decency,  he 
slipped  back  to  his  bunk  in  the  shed  behind, 
and  lay  staring  into  the  darkness,  picturing  the 
amazing  occurrences  of  the  evening.  At  the 
memory  of  her  level  glances  he  fell  a-tremble 
and  sighed  ecstatically,  prickling  with  a  new, 
strange  emotion.  He  lay  till  far  into  the  night, 
wakeful  and  absorbed.  He  was  able  to  grasp 
the  fact  but  dimly  that  all  this  dazzling  per 
fection  was  for  one  man.  Were  it  not  manifestly 
impossible  he  supposed  other  men  in  other 
lands  knew  other  ladies  as  beautiful,  and  it  fur 
thermore  grew  upon  him  blackly,  in  the  thick 
gloom,  that  in  all  this  world  of  womanly  sweet 
ness  and  beauty,  no  modicum  of  it  was  for  the 
misshapen  dwarf  of  the  Bar  X  outfit.  All  his 
life  he  had  fought  furiously  to  uphold  the  empty 
shell  of  his  dignity  in  the  eyes  of  his  comrades, 
yet  always  morbidly  conscious  of  the  differ- 


158  PARDNERS 

ence  in  his  l>ody.  Whisky  had  been  his  solace, 
his  sweetheart.  It  changed  him,  raised  and  be 
atified  him  into  the  likeness  of  other  men,  and 
now,  as  he  pondered,  he  was  aware  of  a  con 
suming  thirst  engendered  by  the  heat  of  his  earl 
ier  emotions.  Undoubtedly  it  must  be  quenched. 

He  rose  and  stole  quietly  out  into  the  big 
front  room.  Perhaps  the  years  of  free  life  in  the 
open  had  bred  a  suspicion  of  walls,  perhaps  he 
felt  his  conduct  would  not  brook  discovery, 
perhaps  habit,  prompted  him  to  take  the  two 
heavy  Colts  from  their  holsters  and  thrust  them 
inside  his  trousers  band. 

He  slipped  across  the  room,  silent  and  cav 
ern-like,  its  blackness  broken  by  the  window 
squares  of  starry  sky,  till  he  felt  the  paucity 
of  glassware  behind  the  bar. 

"Here's  to  Her,"  It  burned  delightfully. 

"Here's  to  the  groom."  It  tingled  more 
alluringly. 

"I'll  drink  what  I  can,  and  get  back  to  the 
bunk  before  it  works,"  he  thought,  and  the 
darkness  veiled  the  measure  of  his  potations. 


The  Shyness  of  Shorty  159 

He  started  at  a  noise  on  the  stairway.  His 
senses  not  yet  dulled,  detected  a  stealthy  tread. 
Not  the  careless  step  of  a  man  unafraid,  but 
the  cautious  rustle  and  halt  of  a  marauder. 
Every  nerve  bristled  to  keenest  alertness  as  the 
faint  occasional  sounds  approached,  passed  the 
open  end  of  the  bar  where  he  crouched,  leading 
on  to  the  window.  Then  a  match  flared,  and 
the  darkness  rushed  out  as  a  candle  wick 
sputtered. 

Shorty  stretched  on  tiptoe,  brought  his  eye  to 
the  level  of  the  bar,  and  gazed  upon  the  hor 
rent  head  of  Bailey.  He  sighed  thankfully,  but 
watched  with  interest  his  strange  behaviour. 

Bailey  moved  the  light  across  the  window 
from  left  to  right  three  times,  paused,  then  wig 
wagged  some  code  out  into  the  night. 

" He's  signalling, "  mused  Shorty.  "Hope  he 
gets  through  quick.  I'm  getting  full."  The 
fumes  of  the  liquor  were  beating  at  his  senses, 
and  he  knew  that  soon  he  would  move  with 
difficulty. 

The  man,  however,  showed  no  intention  of 


160  PARDNERS 

leaving,  for,  his  signals  completed,  he  blew  out 
the  light,  first  listening  for  any  sound  from 
above,  then  his  figure  loomed  black  and 
immobile  against  the  dim  starlight  of  the 
window. 

"Oh,  Lord!  I  got  to  set  down,"  and  the 
watcher  squatted  upon  the  floor,  bracing 
against  the  wall.  His  dulling  perceptions  were 
sufficiently  acute  to  detect  shuffling  footsteps  on 
the  porch  and  the  cautious  unbarring  of  the 
door. 

"  Gettin'  late  for  visitors, "  he  thought,  as  he 
entered  a  blissful  doze.  "When  they're  abed, 
I'll  turn  in." 

It  seemed  much  later  that  a  shot  startled 
him.  To  his  dizzy  hearing  came  the  sound  of 
curses  overhead,  the  stamp  and  shift  of  feet, 
the  crashing  fall  of  struggling  men,  and,  what 
brought  him  unsteadily  to  his  legs,  the  agonized 
scream  of  a  woman.  It  echoed  through  the 
house,  chilling  him,  and  dwindled  to  an  aching 
moan. 

Something  was  wrong,  he  knew  that,  but  it 


The  Shyness  of  Shorty  161 

was  hard  to  tell  just  what.  He.must  think.  What 
hard  work  it  was  to  think,  too;  he'd  never 
noticed  before  what  a  laborious  process  it  was. 
Probably  that  sheriff  had  got  into  trouble;  he 
was  a  fresh  guy,  anyhow;  and  he'd  laughed 
when  he  first  saw  Shorty.  That  settled  it.  He 
could  get  out  of  it  himself.  Evidently  it  was 
nothing  serious,  for  there  was  no  more  dis 
turbance  above,  only  confused  murmurings. 
Then  a  light  showed  in  the  stairs,  and  again 
the  shuffling  of  feet  came,  as  four  strange  men 
descended.  They  were  lighted  by  the  sardonic 
Bailey,  and  they  dragged  a  sixth  between  them, 
bound  and  helpless.  It  was  the  sheriff. 

Now,  what  had  he  been  doing  to  get  into 
such  a  fix? 

The  prisoner  stood  against  the  wall,  white 
and  defiant.  He  strained  at  his  bonds  silently, 
while  his  captors  watched  his  futile  struggles. 
There  was  something  terrible  and  menacing  in 
the  quietness  with  which  they  gloated  —  a 
suggestion  of  some  horror  to  come.  At  last  he 
desisted,  and  burst  forth. 


162  PARDNERS 

"You've  got  me  all  right.  You  did  this, 
Bailey,  you  —  traitor. " 

"He's  never  been  a  traitor,  as  far  as  we 
know,"  sneered  one  of  the  four.  "In  fact,  I 
might  say  he's  been  strictly  on  the  square  with 


us.' 


"I  didn't  think  you  made  war  on  women, 
either,  Marsh  Trempei,  but  it  seems  you're 
everything  from  a  dog- thief  down.  Why 
couldn't  you  fight  me  alone,  in  the  daylight, 
like  a  man?" 

"You  don't  wait  till  a  rattler's  coiled  be 
fore  you  stamp  his  head  off,"  said  the  former 
speaker.  "It's  either  you  or  us,  and  I  reckon 
it's  you." 

So  these  were  the  Tremper  boys,  eh?  The 
worst  desperadoes  in  the  Southwest;  and  Bailey 
was  their  ally.  The  watcher  eyed  them,  mildly 
curious,  and  it  seemed  to  him  that  they  were  as 
bad  a  quartette  as  rumour  had  painted  —  bad, 
even,  for  this  country  of  bad  men.  The  sheriff 
was  a  fool  for  getting  mixed  up  with  such  peo 
ple.  Shorty  knew  enough  to  mind  his  own 


The  Shyness  of  Shorty  163 

business,  anyway,  if  others  didn't.  He  was  a 
peaceful  man,  and  didn't  intend  to  get  mixed 
up  with  outlaws.  His  mellow  meditations  were 
interrupted  by  the  hoarse  speech  of  the  sheriff, 
who  had  broken  down  into  his  rage  again, 
and  struggled  madly  while  words  ran  from 
him. 

"Let  me  go!  —  you,  let  me  free.  I  want  to 
fight  the  coward  that  struck  my  wife.  You've 
killed  her.  Who  was  it  ?  Let  me  get  at  him. " 

Shorty  stiffened  as  though  a  douche  of  ice- 
water  had  struck  him.  "Killed  her!  Struck  his 
wife!"  My  God!  Not  that  sweet  creature  of  his 
dreams  who  had  talked  and  smiled  at  him 
without  noting  his  deformity  — 

An  awful  anger  rose  in  him  and  he  moved 
out  into  the  light. 

"Han5  sup!" 

Whatever  of  weakness  may  have  dragged  at 
his  legs,  none  sounded  in  the  great  bellowing 
command  that  flooded  the  room.  At  the  com 
pelling-volume  of  the  sound  every  man  whirled 
and  eight  empty  hands  shot  skyward.  Their 


164  PARDNERS 

startled  eyes  beheld  a  man's  squat  body  weav 
ing  uncertainly  on  the  limbs  of  an  insect,  while 
in  each  hand  shone  a  blue-black  Colt  that 
waved  and  circled  n  maddening,  erratic  orbits, 

At  the  command,  Marsh  Tremper's  mind 
had  leaped  to  the  fact  that  behind  him  was  one 
man;  one  against  five,  and  he  took  a  gambler's 
chance. 

As  he  whirled,  he  drew  and  fired.  None  but 
the  dwarf  of  Bar  X  could  have  lived,  for  he  was 
the  deadliest  hip  shot  in  the  territory.  His  bul 
let  crashed  into  the  wall,  a  hand's  breadth  over 
Shorty's  "cow-lick."  It  was  a  clean  heart  shot; 
the  practised  whirl  and  flip  of  the  finished  gun 
fighter;  but  the  roar  of  his  explosion  was  echo 
ed  by  another,  and  the  elder  Tremper  spun  un 
steadily  against  the  table  with  a  broken 
shoulder. 

"Too  high,"  moaned  the  big  voice.  " — • 
the  liquor." 

He  swayed  drunkenly,  but  at  the  slightest 
shift  of  his  quarry,  the  aimless  wanderings  of  a 
black  muzzle  stopped  on  the  spot  and  the  body 


The  Shyness  of  Shorty  165 

behind  the  guns  was  congested  with  deadly 
menace. 

"Face  the  wall,"  he  cried.  "Quick!  Keep 
'em  up  higher!"  They  sullenly  obeyed;  their 
wounded  leader  reaching  with  his  uninjured 
member. 

To  the  complacent  Shorty,  it  seemed  that 
things  were  working  nicely,  though  he  was  dis 
turbingly  conscious  of  his  alcoholic  lack  of 
balance,  and  tortured  by  the  fear  that  he  might 
suddenly  lose  the  iron  grip  of  his  faculties. 

Then,  for  the  second  time  that  night,  from 
the  stairs  came  the  voice  that  threw  him  into 
the  dreadful  confusion  of  his  modesty. 

"O  Ross!"  it  cried,  "I've  brought  your 
gun,"  and  there  on  the  steps,  dishevelled,  pal 
lid  and  quivering,  was  the  bride,  and  grasped 
in  one  trembling  hand  was  her  husband's 
weapon. 

"Ah  —  h!"  sighed  Shorty,  seraphically,  as 
the  vision  beat  in  upon  his  misty  conceptions. 
" She  ain't  hurt/9' 

In  his  mind  there  was  no  room  for  desper- 


166  PARDNERS 

adoes  contemporaneously  with  Her.  Then  he 
became  conscious  of  the  lady's  raiment,  and 
his  brown  cheeks  flamed  brick-red,  while  he 
dropped  his  eyes.  In  his  shrinking,  grovelling 
modesty,  he  made  for  his  dark  corner. 

One  of  those  at  bay,  familiar  with  this  strange 
abashment,  seized  the  moment,  but  at  his  mo 
tion  the  sheriff  screamed:  "Look  out!" 

The  quick  danger  in  the  cry  brought  back 
with  a  surge  the  men  against  the  wall  and 
Shorty  swung  instantly,  firing  at  the  outstretch 
ed  hand  of  Bailey  as  it  reached  for  Tremper's 
weapon. 

The  landlord  straightened,  gazing  affright- 
edly  at  his  finger  tips. 

"Too  low!*"  and  Shorty's  voice  held  aching 
tears.  "  I'll  never  touch  another  drop ;  it's  plumb 
ruined  my  aim." 

"Cut  these  strings,  girlie,"  said  the  sheriff, 
as  the  little  man's  gaze  again  wavered,  threat 
ening  to  leave  his  prisoners. 

"Quick.  He's  blushing  again." 

When  they  were  manacled,  Shorty  stood  in 


The  Shyness  of  Shorty  167 

moist  exudation,  trembling  and  speechless, 
under  the  incoherent  thanks  of  the  bride  and 
the  silent  admiration  of  her  handsome  hus 
band.  She  fluttered  about  him  in  a  tremor  of 
anxiety,  lest  he  be  wounded,  caressing  him 
here  and  there  with  solicitous  pats  till  he  felt 
his  shamed  and  happy  spirit  would  surely  burst 
from  its  misshapen  prison. 

"You've  made  a  good  thing  to-night,"  said 
Turney,  clapping  him  heartily  on  his  massive 
back.  "You  get  the  five  thousand  all  right.  We 
were  going  to  Mexico  City  on  that  for  a  bridal 
trip  when  I  rounded  up  the  gang,  but  I'll  see 
you  get  every  cent  of  it,  old  man.  If  it  wasn't 
for  you  I'd  have  been  a  heap  farther  south  than 
that  by  now. " 

The  open  camaraderie  and  good-fellowship 
that  rang  in  the  man's  voice  affected  Shorty 
strangely,  accustomed  as  he  was  to  the  veiled 
contempt  or  open  compassion  of  his  fellows. 
Here  was  one  who  recognized  him  as  a  man, 
an  equal. 

He  spread  his  lips,  but  the  big  voice  squeak- 


168  PARDNERS 

ed  dismally,  then,  inflating  deeply,  he  spoke  so 
that  the  prisoners  chained  in  the  corral  outside 
heard  him  plainly. 

"I'd  rather  she  took  it  anyhow,"  blushing 
violently. 

"No,  no,"  they  cried.  "It's  yours." 

"Well,  then,  half  of  it"  — and  for  once 
Shorty  betrayed  the  strength  of  Gibraltar, 
even  in  the  face  of  the  lady,  and  so  it  stood. 

As  the  dawn  spread  over  the  dusty  prairie, 
tipping  the  westward  mountains  with  silver 
caps,  and  sucking  the  mist  out  of  the  cotton- 
wood  bottoms,  he  bade  them  adieu. 

"No,  I  got  to  get  back  to  the  Bar  X,  or  the 
old  man'll  swear  I  been  drinking  again,  and  I 
don't  want  to  dissipate  no  wrong  impressions 
around."  He  winked  gravely.  Then,  as  the 
sheriff  and  his  surly  prisoners  drove  off,  he 
called : 

"Mr.  Turney,  take  good  care  of  them 
Trempers.  I  think  a  heap  of  'em,  for,  outside  of 
your  wife,  they're  the  only  ones  in  this  outfit 
that  didn't  laugh  at  me." 


THE   TEST 


THE  TEST 

Pierre  "Feroce"  showed  disapproval  in  his 
every  attitude  as  plainly  as  disgust  peered  from 
the  seams  in  his  dark  face;  it  lurked  in  his 
scowl  and  in  the  curl  of  his  long  rawhide  that 
bit  among  the  sled  dogs.  So  at  least  thought 
Willard,  as  he  clung  to  the  swinging  sledge. 

They  were  skirting  the  coast,  keeping  to  the 
glare  ice,  wind-swept  and  clean,  that  lay  out 
side  the  jumbled  shore  pack.  The  team  ran 
silently  in  the  free  gait  of  the  grey  wolf,  romp 
ing  in  harness  from  pure  joy  of  motion  and  the 
intoxication  of  perfect  life,  making  the  sled 
runners  whine  like  the  song  of  a  cutlass. 

This  route  is  dangerous,  of  course,  from 
hidden  cracks  in  the  floes,  and  most  travellers 
hug  the  bluffs,  but  he  who  rides  with  Pierre 
"Feroce"  takes  chances.  It  was  this  that  had 


172  PARDNERS 

won  him  the  name  of  "Wild"  Pierre  —  the 
most  reckless,  tireless  man  of  the  trails,  a 
scoffer  at  peril,  bolting  through  danger  with 
rush  and  frenzy,  overcoming  sheerly  by  vigour 
those  obstacles  which  destroy  strong  men  in 
the  North. 

The  power  that  pulsed  within  him  gleamed 
from  his  eyes,  rang  in  his  song,  showed  in  the 
aggressive  thrust  of  his  sensual  face. 

This  particular  morning,  however,  Pierre's 
distemper  had  crystallized  into  a  great  con 
tempt  for  his  companion.  Of  all  trials,  the  most 
detestable  is  to  hit  the  trail  with  half  a  man, 
a  pale,  anemic  weakling  like  this  stranger. 

Though  modest  in  the  extent  of  his  learning, 
Pierre  gloated  in  a  freedom  of  speech,  the 
which  no  man  dared  deny  him.  He  turned  to 
eye  his  companion  cynically  for  a  second  time, 
and  contempt  was  patent  in  his  gaze.  Willard 
appeared  slender  and  pallid  in  his  furs,  though 
his  clear-cut  features  spoke  a  certain  strength 
and  much  refinement. 

"Bah!  I  t'ink  you  dam  poor  feller,"  he  said 


The  Test  173 

finally.  "  'Ow  you  'goin'  stan'  thees  trip,  eh  ? 
She's  need  beeg  mans,  not  leetle  runt  like  you." 

Amusement  at  this  frankness  glimmered  in 
Willard's  eyes. 

"You're  like  all  ignorant  people.  You  think 
in  order  to  stand  hardship  a  man  should  be 
able  to  toss  a  sack  of  flour  in  his  teeth  or  juggle 
a  cask  of  salt-horse." 

"Sure  t'ing,"  grinned  Pierre.  "That's  right. 
Look  at  me.  Mebbe  you  hear  'bout  Pierre 
'  Feroce '  sometime,  eh  ?  " 

"Oh,  yes;  everybody  knows  you;  knows 
you're  a  big  bully.  I've  seen  you  drink  a  quart 
of  this  wood  alcohol  they  call  whisky  up  here, 
and  then  jump  the  bar  from  a  stand,  but  you're 
all  animal  —  you  haven't  the  refinement  and 
the  culture  that  makes  real  strength.  It's  the 
mind  that  makes  us  stand  punishment." 

"Ha!  ha!  ha!"  laughed  the  Canadian. 
"Wat  a  fonny  talk.  She'll  take  the  heducate 
man  for  stan'  the  col',  eh?  Mon  Dieu!"  He 
roared  again  till  the  sled  dogs  turned  fearful 
glances  backward  and  bushy  tails  drooped  un- 


174  PARDNERS 

der  the  weight  of  their  fright.  Great  noise  came 
oftenest  with  great  rage  from  Pierre,  and  they 
had  too  frequently  felt  the  both  to  forget. 

"Yes,  you  haven't  the  mentality.  Some 
time  you'll  use  up  your  physical  resources  and 
go  to  pieces  like  a  burned  wick." 

Pierre  was  greatly  amused.  His  yellow  teeth 
shone,  and  he  gave  vent  to  violent  mirth  as, 
following  the  thought,  he  pictured  a  naked 
mind  wandering  over  the  hills  with  the  quick 
silver  at  sixty  degrees. 

"  Did  you  ever  see  a  six-day  race  ?  Of  course 
not;  you  barbarians  haven't  sunk  to  the  level 
of  our  dissolute  East,  where  we  joy  in  Roman 
spectacles,  but  if  you  had  you'd  see  it's  will 
that  wins;  it's  the  man  that  eats  his  soul  by 
inches.  The  educated  soldier  stands  the  cam 
paign  best.  You  run  too  much  to  muscle  — 
you're  not  balanced." 

"I  t'ink  mebbe  you'll  'ave  chance  for  show 
'im,  thees  stout  will  of  yours.  She's  goin'  be 
long  'mush'  troo  the  mountains,  plentee  snow, 
plentee  cold." 


The  Test  175 

Although  Pierre's  ridicule  was  galling,  Wil- 
lard  felt  the  charm  of  the  morning  too  strongly 
to  admit  of  anger  or  to  argue  his  pet  theory. 

The  sun,  brilliant  and  cold,  lent  a  paradoxi 
cal  cheerfulness  to  the  desolation,  and,  though 
never  a  sign  of  life  broke  the  stillness  around 
them,  the  beauty  of  the  scintillant,  gleaming 
mountains,  distinct  as  cameos,  that  guarded 
the  bay,  appealed  to  him  with  the  strange  at 
traction  of  the  Arctics ;  that  attraction  that  calls 
and  calls  insistently,  till  men  forsake  God's 
country  for  its  mystery. 

He  breathed  the  biting  air  cleaned  by 
leagues  of  lifeless  barrens  and  voids  of  crack 
ling  frost  till  he  ached  with  the  exhilaration 
of  a  perfect  morning  on  the  Circle. 

Also  before  him  undulated  the  grandest 
string  of  dogs  the  Coast  had  known.  Seven 
there  were,  tall  and  grey,  with  tails  like  plumes, 
whom  none  but  Pierre  could  lay  hand  upon, 
fierce  and  fearless  as  their  master.  He  drove 
with  the  killing  cruelty  of  a  stampeder,  and 
they  loved  him. 


176  PARDNERS 

'You  say  you  have  grub  cached  at  the  old 
Indian  hut  on  the  Good  Hope?"  questioned 
Willard. 

"Sure!  Five  poun'  bacon,  leetle  flour  and 
rice.  I  cache  one  gum-boot  too,  ha!  Good  thing 
for  make  fire  queeck,  eh  ?" 

"You  bet;  an  old  rubber  boot  comes  handy 
when  it's  too  cold  to  make  shavings." 

Leaving  the  coast,  they  ascended  a  deep  and 
tortuous  river  where  the  snow  lay  thick  and 
soft.  One  man  on  snow-shoes  broke  trail  for 
the  dogs  till  they  reached  the  foothills.  It  was 
hard  work,  but  infinitely  preferable  to  that 
which  followed,  for  now  they  came  into  a  dan 
gerous  stretch  of  overflows.  The  stream,  froz 
en  to  its  bed,  clogged  the  passage  of  the  spring 
water  beneath,  forcing  it  up  through  cracks 
till  it  spread  over  the  solid  ice,  forming  pools 
and  sheets  covered  with  treacherous  ice-skins. 
Wet  feet  are  fatal  to  man  and  beast,  and  they 
made  laborious  detours,  wallowing  trails 
through  tangled  willows  waist  deep  in  the 
snow  smother,  or  clinging  precariously  to  the 


The  Test  111 

overhanging  bluffs.  As  they  reached  the  river's 
source  the  sky  blackened  suddenly,  and  great 
clouds  of  snow  rushed  over  the  bleak  hills, 
boiling  down  into  the  valley  with  a  furious 
draught.  They  flung  up  their  flimsy  tent,  only 
to  have  it  flattened  by  the  force  of  the  gale  that 
cut  like  well-honed  steel.  Frozen  spots  leaped 
out  white  on  their  faces,  while  their  hands 
stiffened  ere  they  could  fasten  the  guy  strings. 

Finally,  having  lashed  the  tent  bottom  to  the 
protruding  willow  tops,  by  grace  of  heavy  lift 
ing  they  strained  their  flapping  shelter  up  suffi 
ciently  to  crawl  within. 

"By  Gar!  She's  blow  hup  ver'  queeck," 
yelled  Pierre,  as  he  set  the  ten-pound  sheet- 
iron  stove,  its  pipe  swaying  drunkenly  with  the 
heaving  tent. 

"Good  t'ing  she  hit  us  in  the  brush."  He 
spoke  as  calmly  as  though  danger  was  distant, 
and  a  moment  later  the  little  box  was  roaring 
with  its  oil-soaked  kindlings. 

''Will  this  stove  burn  green  willow  tops?" 
cried  Willard. 


178  PARDNERS 

"Sure!  She's  good  stove.  She'll  burn  hicicles 
eef  you  get  'im  start  one  times.  See  'im  get  red  ?" 

They  rubbed  the  stiff  spots  from  their  cheeks, 
then,  seizing  the  axe,  Willard  crawled  forth 
into  the  storm  and  dug  at  the  base  of  the  gnarl 
ed  bushes.  Occasionally  a  shrub  assumed  the 
proportions  of  a  man's  wrist  —  but  rarely. 
Gathering  an  armful,  he  bore  them  inside,  and 
twisting  the  tips  into  withes,  he  fed  the  fire. 
The  frozen  twigs  sizzled  and  snapped,  threat 
ening  to  fail  utterly,  but  with  much  blowing 
he  sustained  a  blaze  sufficient  to  melt  a  pot 
of  snow.  Boiling  was  out  of  the  question,  but 
the  tea  leaves  became  soaked  and  the  bacon 
cauterized. 

Pierre  freed  and  fed  the  dogs.  Each  gulped 
its  dried  salmon,  and,  curling  in  the  lee  of  the 
tent,  was  quickly  drifted  over.  Next  he  cut 
blocks  from  the  solid  bottom  snow  and  built  a 
barricade  to  windward.  Then  he  accumulated 
a  mow  of  willow  tops  without  the  tent-fly.  All 
the  time  the  wind  drew  down  the  valley  like  the 
breath  of  a  giant  bellows. 


The  Test  179 

"Supper,"  shouted  Willard,  and  as  Pierre 
crawled  into  the  candle-light  he  found  him 
squatted,  fur-bundled,  over  the  stove,  which 
settled  steadily  into  the  snow,  melting  its  way 
downward  toward  a  firmer  foundation. 

The  heat  was  insufficient  to  thaw  the  frozen 
sweat  in  his  clothes;  his  eyes  were  bleary  and 
wet  from  smoke,  and  his  nose  needed  contin 
uous  blowing,  but  he  spoke  pleasantly,  a  fact 
which  Pierre  noted  with  approval. 

"We'll  need  a  habeas  corpus  for  this  stove 
if  you  don't  get  something  to  hold  her  up,  and 
I  might  state,  if  it's  worthy  of  mention,  that 
your  nose  is  frozen  again."  w 

Pierre  brought  an  armful  of  stones  from  the 
creek  edge,  distributing  them  beneath  the 
stove  on  a  bed  of  twisted  willows;  then  swal 
lowing  their  scanty,  half-cooked  food,  they 
crawled,  shivering,  into  the  deerskin  sleeping- 
bags,  that  animal  heat  might  dry  their  clammy 
garments. 

Four  days  the  wind  roared  and  the  ice  filings 
poured  over  their  shelter  while  they  huddled 


180  PARDNERS 

beneath.  When  one  travels  on  rations  delay  is 
dangerous.  Each  morning,  dragging  themselves 
out  into  the  maelstrom,  they  took  sticks  and 
poked  into  the  drifts  for  dogs.  Each  animal  as 
found  was  exhumed,  given  a  fish,  and  became 
straightway  reburied  in  the  whirling  white 
that  seethed  down  from  the  mountains. 

On  the  fifth,  without  warning,  the  storm 
died,  and  the  air  stilled  to  a  perfect  silence. 

"These  dog  bad  froze,"  said  Pierre,  swear 
ing  earnestly  as  he  harnessed.  "I  don'  like  eet 
much.  They  goin'  play  hout  I'm  'fraid."  He 
knelt  and  chewed  from  between  their  toes  the 
ice  pellets  that  had  accumulated.  A  malamoot 
is  hard  pressed  to  let  his  feet  mass,  and  this 
added  to  the  men's  uneasiness. 

As  they  mounted  the  great  divide,  moun 
tains  rolled  away  on  every  hand,  barren,  deso 
late,  marble-white;  always  the  whiteness;  al 
ways  the  listening  silence  that  oppressed  like  a 
weight.  Myriads  of  creek  valleys  radiated  be 
low  in  a  bewildering  maze  of  twisting  seams. 

"Those  are  the  Ass's  Ears,  I  suppose,"  said 


The  Test  181 

Willard,  gazing  at  two  great  fangs  that  bit 
deep  into  the  sky-line.  "Is  it  true  that  no  man 
has  ever  reached  them  ?" 

"Yes.  The  hinjun  say  that's  w'ere  hall  the 
storm  come  from,  biccause  w'en  the  win'  blow 
troo  the  Ass's  Ear,  look  out!  Somebody  goin' 
ketch  'ell." 

Dogs'  feet  wear  quickly  after  freezing,  for 
crusted  snow  cuts  like  a  knife.  Spots  of  blood 
showed  in  their  tracks,  growing  more  plentiful 
till  every  print  was  a  crimson  stain.  They 
limped  pitifully  on  their  raw  pads,  and  oc 
casionally  one  whined.  At  every  stop  they 
sank  in  track,  licking  their  lacerated  paws, 
rising  only  at  the  cost  of  much  whipping. 

On  the  second  night,  faint  and  starved, 
they  reached  the  hut.  Digging  away  the  drifts, 
they  crawled  inside  to  find  it  half  full  of  snow 
—  snow  which  had  sifted  through  the  crevices. 
Pierre  groped  among  the  shadows  and  swore 
excitedly. 

"What's  up  ?"  said  Willard. 

Vocal  effort  of  the  simplest  is  exhausting 


182  PARDNERS 

when  spent  with  hunger,  and  these  were  the 
first  words  he  had  spoken  for  hours. 

"By  Gar!  she's  gone.  Somebody  stole  my 
grub!" 

Willard  felt  a  terrible  sinking,  and  his  stom 
ach  cried  for  food. 

"How  far  is  it  to  the  Crooked  River  Road 
House?"  r 

"  One  long  day  drive  —  forty  mile." 

"We  must  make  it  to-morrow  or  go  hungry, 
eh  ?  Well  this  isn't  the  first  dog  fish  I  ever  ate." 
Both  men  gnawed  a  mouldy  dried  salmon  from 
their  precious  store. 

As  Willard  removed  his  footgear  he  groaned. 

"Wat's  the  mattaire?" 

"I  froze  my  foot  two  days  ago  —  snow-shoe 
strap  too  tight."  He  exhibited  a  heel,  from 
which,  in  removing  his  inner  sock,  the  flesh 
and  skin  had  come  away. 

"That's  all  right,"  grinned  Pierre.  "You 
got  the  beeg  will  lef  yet.  It  take  the  heducate 
man  for  stan'  the  col',  you  know." 

Willard  gritted  his  teeth. 


The  Test  183 

They  awoke  to  the  whine  of  a  grey  wind 
storm  that  swept  the  cutting  snow  in  swirling 
clouds  and  made  travel  a  madness.  The  next 
day  was  worse. 

Two  days  of  hunger  weigh  heavy  when  the 
cold  weakens,  and  they  grew  gaunt  and  fell 
away  in  their  features. 

"I'm  glad  we've  got  another  feed  for  the 
dogs,"  remarked  Willard.  "We  can't  let  them 
run  hungry,  even  if  we  do." 

"I  t'ink  she's  be  hall  right  to-mor',"  ven 
tured  Pierre.  "Thees  ain't  snow — jus'  win'; 
bimeby  all  blow  hout.  Sacre*!  I'll  can  eat  'miff 
for  'ole  harniy." 

For  days  both  men  had  been  cold,  and  the 
sensation  of  complete  warmth  had  come  to 
seem  strange  and  unreal,  while  their  faces 
cracked  where  the  spots  had  been. 

Willard  felt  himself  on  the  verge  of  collapse. 
He  recalled  his  words  about  strong  men,  gaz 
ing  the  while  at  Pierre.  The  Canadian  evinced 
suffering  only  in  the  haggard  droop  of  eye  and 
mouth;  otherwise  he  looked  strong  and  dogged. 


184  PARDNERS 

Willard  felt  his  own  features  had  shrunk  to 
a  mask  of  loose- jawed  suffering,  and  he  set 
his  mental  sinews,  muttering  to  himself. 

He  was  dizzy  and  faint  as  he  stretched 
himself  in  the  still  morning  air  upon  waking, 
and  hobbled  painfully,  but  as  his  companion 
emerged  from  the  darkened  shelter  into  the 
crystalline  brightness  he  forgot  his  own  mis 
ery  at  sight  of  him.  The  big  man  reeled 
as  though  struck  when  the  dazzle  from  the 
hills  reached  him,  and  he  moaned,  shielding 
his  sight.  Snow -blindness  had  found  him  in 
a  night. 

Slowly  they  plodded  out  of  the  valley,  for 
hunger  gnawed  acutely,  and  they  left  a  trail 
of  blood  tracks  from  the  dogs.  It  took  the  com 
bined  efforts  of  both  men  to  lash  them  to  foot 
after  each  pause.  Thus  progress  was  slow  and 
fraught  with  agony. 

As  they  rose  near  the  pass,  miles  of  Arctic 
wastes  bared  themselves.  All  about  towered 
bald  domes,  while  everywhere  stretched  the 
monotonous  white,  the  endless  snow  unbroken 


The  Test  185 

by  tree  or  shrub,  pallid  and  menacing,  mad 
dening  to  the  eye. 

"Thank  God,  the  worst's  over,"  sighed 
Willard,  flinging  himself  onto  the  sled.  "We'll 
make  it  to  the  summit  next  time;  then  she's 
down  hill  all  the  way  to  the  road  house." 

Pierre  said  nothing. 

Away  to  the  northward  glimmered  the  Ass's 
Ears,  and  as  the  speaker  eyed  them  carelessly 
he  noted  gauzy  shreds  and  streamers  veiling 
their  tops.  The  phenomena  interested  him, 
for  he  knew  that  here  must  be  wind  --wind, 
the  terror  of  the  bleak  tundra;  the  hopeless, 
merciless  master  of  the  barrens !  However,  the 
distant  range  beneath  the  twin  peaks  showed 
clear-cut  and  distinct  against  the  sky,  and  he 
did  not  mention  the  occurrence  to  the  guide, 
although  he  recalled  the  words  of  the  Indians : 
"Beware  of  the  wind  through  the  Ass's  Ears." 

Again  they  laboured  up  the  steep  slope, 
wallowing  in  the  sliding  snow,  straining  silently 
at  the  load;  again  they  threw  themselves,  ex 
hausted,  upon  it.  Now,  as  he  eyed  the  pan- 


186  PARDNERS 

orama  below,  it  seemed  to  have  suffered  a 
subtle  change,  indefinable  and  odd.  Although 
but  a  few  minutes  had  elapsed,  the  coast  moun 
tains  no  longer  loomed  clear  against  the  hori 
zon,  and  his  visual  range  appeared  foreshort 
ened,  as  though  the  utter  distances  had  length 
ened,  bringing  closer  the  edge  of  things.  The 
twin  peaks  seemed  endlessly  distant  and  hazy, 
while  the  air  had  thickened  as  though  con 
gested  with  possibilities,  lending  a  remoteness 
to  the  landscape. 

"If  it  blows  up  on  us  here,  we're  gone,"  he 
thought,  "for  it's  miles  to  shelter,  and  we're 
right  in  the  saddle  of  the  hills." 

Pierre,  half  blinded  as  he  was,  arose  un 
easily  and  cast  the  air  like  a  wild  beast,  his 
great  head  thrown  back,  his  nostrils  quivering. 

"I  smell  the  win',"  he  cried.  "Mon  Dieu! 
She's  goin'  blow!" 

A  volatile  pennant  floated  out  fromanear-bye 
peak,  hanging  about  its  crest  like  faint  smoke. 
Then  along  the  brow  of  the  pass  writhed  a 
wisp  of  drifting,  twisting  flakelets,  idling  hither 


The  Test  187 

and  yon,  astatic  and  aimless,  settling  in  a  hol 
low.  They  sensed  a  thrill  and  rustle  to  the  air, 
though  never  a  breath  had  touched  them; 
then,  as  they  mounted  higher,  a  draught 
fanned  them,  icy  as  interstellar  space.  The 
view  from  the  summit  was  grotesquely  dis 
torted,  and  glancing  upward  they  found  the 
guardian  peaks  had  gone  a-smoke  with  clouds 
of  snow  that  whirled  confusedly,  while  an  in 
creasing  breath  sucked  over  the  summit, 
stronger  each  second.  Dry  snow  began  to 
rustle  slothfully  about  their  feet.  So  swiftly 
were  the  changes  wrought,  that  before  the 
mind  had  grasped  their  import  the  storm  was 
on  them,  roaring  down  from  every  side, 
swooping  out  of  the  boiling  sky,  a  raging  blast 
from  the  voids  of  sunless  space. 

Pierre's  shouts  as  he  slashed  at  the  sled  lash 
ings  were  snatched  from  his  lips  in  scattered 
scraps.  He  dragged  forth  the  whipping  tent 
and  threw  himself  Upon  it  with  the  sleeping- 
bags.  Having  cut  loose  the  dogs,  Willard 
crawled  within  his  sack  and  they  drew  the 


188  PARDNERS 

flapping  canvas  over  them.  The  air  was  twi 
light  and  heavy  with  efflorescent  granules  that 
hurtled  past  in  a  drone. 

They  removed  their  outer  garments  that  the 
fur  might  fold  closer  against  them,  and  lay 
exposed  to  the  full  hate  of  the  gale.  They  hoped 
to  be  drifted  over,  but  no  snow  could  lodge 
in  this  hurricane,  and  it  sifted  past,  dry  and 
sharp,  eddying  out  a  bare  place  wherein  they 
lay.  Thus  the  wind  drove  the  chill  to  their 
bones  bitterly. 

An  unnourished  human  body  responds  but 
weakly,  so,  vitiated  by  their  fast  and  labours, 
their  suffering  smote  them  with  tenfold  cruelty. 

All  night  the  north  wind  shouted,  and,  as 
the  next  day  waned  with  its  violence  undi- 
minished,  the  frost  crept  in  upon  them  till 
they  rolled  and  tossed  shivering.  Twice  they 
essayed  to  crawl  out,  but  were  driven  back  to 
cower  for  endless,  hopeless  hours. 

It  is  in  such  black,  aimless  times  that 
thought  becomes  distorted.  Willard  felt  his 
mind  wandering  through  bleak  dreams  and 


The  Test  189 

tortured  fancies,  always  to  find  himself  harp 
ing  on  his  early  argument  with  Pierre:  "It's 
the  mind  that  counts."  Later  he  roused  to  the 
fact  that  his  knees,  where  they  pressed  against 
the  bag,  were  frozen;  also  his  feet  were  numb 
and  senseless.  In  his  acquired  consciousness 
he  knew  that  along  the  course  of  his  previous 
mental  vagary  lay  madness,  and  the  need  of 
action  bore  upon  him  imperatively. 

He  shouted  to  his  mate,  but  "Wild"  Pierre 
seemed  strangely  apathetic. 

"  We've  got  to  run  for  it  at  daylight.  We're 
freezing.  Here!  Hold  on!  What  are  you  doing  ? 
Wait  for  daylight!"  Pierre  had  scrambled 
stiffly  out  of  his  cover  and  his  gabblings  reach 
ed  Willard.  He  raised  a  clenched  fist  into  the 
darkness  of  the  streaming  night,  cursing  horri 
bly  with  words  that  appalled  the  other. 

"Man!  man!  don't  curse  your  God.  This  is 
bad  enough  as  it  is.  Cover  up.  Quick!" 

Although  apparently  unmindful  of  his  pres 
ence,  the  other  crawled  back  muttering. 

As  the  dim  morning  greyed  the  smother 


190  PARDNERS 

they  rose  and  fought  their  way  downward 
toward  the  valley.  Long  since  they  had  lost 
their  griping  hunger,  and  now  held  only  an 
apathetic  indifference  to  food,  with  a  cringing 
dread  of  the  cold  and  a  stubborn  sense  of  their 
extreme  necessity. 

They  fell  many  times,  but  gradually  drew 
themselves  more  under  control,  the  exercise 
suscitating  them,  as  they  staggered  down 
ward,  blinded  and  buffeted,  their  only  hope 
the  road-house. 

Willard  marvelled  dully  at  the  change  in 
Pierre.  His  face  had  shrivelled  to  blackened 
freezes  stretched  upon  a  bony  substructure, 
and  lighted  by  feverish,  glittering,  black,  black 
eyes.  It  seemed  to  him  that  his  own  lagging 
body  had  long  since  failed,  and  that  his  aching, 
naked  soul  wandered  stiffly  through  the  endless 
day.  As  night  approached  Pierre  stopped  fre 
quently,  propping  himself  with  legs  far  apart; 
sometimes  he  laughed.  Invariably  this  horrible 
sound  shocked  Willard  into  a  keener  sense  of 
the  surroundings,  and  it  grew  to  irritate  him, 


The  Test  191 

for  the  Frenchman's  mental  wanderings  in 
creased  with  the  darkness.  What  made  him 
rouse  one  with  his  awful  laughter?  These 
spells  of  walking  insensibility  were  pleasanter 
far.  At  last  the  big  man  fell.  To  Willard's 
mechanical  endeavours  to  help  he  spoke  sleep 
ily,  but  with  the  sanity  of  a  man  under  great 
stress. 

"  Dat  no  good.  I'm  goin'  freeze  right  'ere  — 
freeze  stiff  as  'ell.  Au  revoir." 

"Get  up!"  Willard  kicked  him  weakly,  then 
sat  upon  the  prostrate  man  as  his  own  faculties 
went  wandering. 

Eventually  he  roused,  and  digging  into  the 
snow  buried  the  other,  first  covering  his  face 
with  the  ample  parka  hood.  Then  he  struck 
down  the  valley.  In  one  lucid  spell  he  found  he 
had  followed  a  sled  trail,  which  was  blown 
clear  and  distinct  by  the  wind  that  had  now 
almost  died  away. 

Occasionally  his  mind  grew  clear,  and  his 
pains  beat  in  upon  him  till  he  grew  furious  at 
the  life  in  him  which  refused  to  end,  which 


192  PARDNERS 

forced  him  ever  through  this  gauntlet  of  mis* 
ery.  More  often  he  was  conscious  only  of  a 
vague  and  terrible  extremity  outside  of  him 
self  that  goaded  him  forever  forward.  Anon 
he  strained  to  recollect  his  destination.  His 
features  had  set  in  an  implacable  grimace  of 
physical  torture  —  like  a  runner  in  the  fury  of 
a  finish  —  till  the  frost  hardened  them  so.  At 
times  he  fell  heavily,  face  downward,  and  at 
length  upon  the  trail,  lying  so  till  that  omni 
present  coercion  that  had  frozen  in  his  brain 
drove  him  forward. 

He  heard  his  own  voice  maundering  through 
lifeless  lips  like  that  of  a  stranger:  "The  man 
that  can  eat  his  soul  will  win,  Pierre." 

Sometimes  he  cried  like  a  child  and  slaver 
ran  from  his  open  mouth,  freezing  at  his  breast. 
One  of  his  hands  was  going  dead.  He  stripped 
the  left  mitten  off  and  drew  it  laboriously  over 
the  right.  One  he  would  save  at  least,  even 
though  he  lost  the  other.  He  looked  at  the  bare 
member  dully,  and  he  could  not  tell  that  the 
cold  had  eased  till  the  bitterness  was  nearly 


The  Test  193 

out  of  the  air.  He  laboured  with  the  fitful 
spurts  of  a  machine  run  down. 

Ten  men  and  many  dogs  lay  together  in 
the  Crooked  River  Road  House  through  the 
storm.  At  late  bedtime  of  the  last  night  came 
a  scratching  on  the  door. 

"Somebody's  left  a  dog  outside,"  said  a 
teamster,  and  rose  to  let  him  in.  He  opened 
the  door  only  to  retreat  affrightedly. 

"My  God!"  he  said.  "My  God!"  and  the 
miners  crowded  forward. 

A  figure  tottered  over  the  portal,  swaying 
drunkenly.  They  shuddered  at  the  sight  of 
its  face  as  it  crossed  toward  the  fire.  It  did  not 
walk;  it  shuffled,  haltingly,  with  flexed  knees 
and  hanging  shoulders,  the  strides  measur 
ing  inches  only  —  a  grisly  burlesque  upon 
senility. 

Pausing  in  the  circle,  it  mumbled  thickly, 
with  great  effort,  as  though  gleaning  words 
from  infinite  distance : 

"  Wild    Pierre  —  frozen  —  buried  —  in    — • 


194  PARDNERS 

snow  —  hurry!"  Then  he  straightened  and 
spoke  strongly,  his  voice  flooding  the  room: 

"It's  the  mind,  Pierre.  Ha!  ha!  ha!  The 
mind." 

He  cackled  hideously,  and  plunged  forward 

into  a  miner's  arms. 

\ 

It  was  many  days  before  his  delirium  broke. 
Gradually  he  felt  the  pressure  of  many  band 
ages  upon  him,  and  the  hunger  of  convales 
cence.  As  he  lay  in  his  bunk  the  past  came  to 
him  hazy  and  horrible;  then  the  hum  of  voices, 
one  loud,  insistent,  and  familiar. 

He  turned  weakly,  to  behold  Pierre  propped 
in  a  chair  by  the  stove,  frost-scarred  and  pale, 
but  aggressive  even  in  recuperation.  He  gestic 
ulated  fiercely  with  a  bandaged  hand,  hot  in 
controversy  with  some  big-limbed,  bearded 
strangers. 

"  Bah !  You  fellers  no  good  —  too  beeg  in  the 
ches',  too  leetle  in  the  forehead,  She'll  tak'  the 
heducate  mans  for  stan'  the  'ardsheep  —  lak' 
me  an*  Meestaire  Weelard. " 


NORTH  OF  FIFTY-THREE 


NORTH  OF  FIFTY-THREE 

Big  George  was  drinking,  and  the  activities  of 
the  little  Arctic  mining  camp  were  paralysed. 
Events  invariably  ceased  their  progress  and 
marked  time  when  George  became  excessive, 
and  now  nothing  of  public  consequence  stirred 
except  the  quicksilver,  which  was  retiring 
fearfully  into  its  bulb  at  the  song  of  the  wind 
which  came  racing  over  the  lonesome,  bitter, 
northward  waste  of  tundra. 

He  held  the  centre  of  the  floor  at  the  North 
ern  Glub,  and  proclaimed  his  modest  virtues  in 
a  voice  as  pleasant  as  the  cough  of  a  bull- 
walrus. 

"Yes,  me!  Little  Georgie!  I  did  it.  I've 
licked  'em  all  from  Herschel  Island  to  Dutch 
Harbour,  big  uns  and  little  uns.  When  they 
didn't  suit  I  made  'em  over.  I'm  the  boss  car- 


198  PARDNERS 

penter  of  the  Arctic  and  I  own  this  camp;  don't 
I,  Slim?  Hey?  Answer  me!"  he  roared  at  the 
emaciated  bearer  of  the  title,  whose  attention 
seemed  wandering  from  the  inventory  of 
George's  startling  traits  toward  a  card  game. 

"Sure  ye  do,"  nervously  smiled  Slim, 
frightened  out  of  a  heart-solo  as  he  returned  to 
his  surroundings. 

"  Well,  then,  listen  to  what  I'm  saying.  I'm 
the  big  chief  of  the  village,  and  when  I'm  stim 
ulated  and  happy  them  fellers  I  don't  like 
hides  out  and  lets  me  and  Nature  operate 
things.  Ain't  that  right  ?"  He  glared  inquiring 
ly  at  his  friends. 

Red,  the  proprietor,  explained  over  the  bar 
in  a  whisper  to  Captain,  the  new  man  from 
Dawson:  "That's  Big  George,  the  whaler. 
He's  a  squaw-man  and  sort  of  a  bully  —  see  ? 
When  he's  sober  he's  on  the  level  strickly,  an' 
we  all  likes  him  fine,  but  when  he  gets  to 
fightin'  the  pain-killer,  he  ain't  altogether  a 
gentleman.  Will  he  fight?  Oh!  Will  he  fight? 
Say!  he's  there  with  chimes,  he  is!  Why,  Doc 


North  of  Fifty-three  199 

Miller's  made  a  grub-stake  rebuildin'  fellers 
that's  had  a  lingerin'  doubt  cached  away  about 
that,  an'  now  when  he  gets  the  booze  up  his 
nose  them  patched-up  guys  oozes  away  an'  hib 
ernates  till  the  gas  dies  out  in  him.  Afterwards 
he's  sore  on  himself  an'  apologizes  to  everybody. 
Don't  get  into  no  trouble  with  him,  cause  he's 
two  checks  past  the  limit.  They  don't  make 
'em  as  bad  as  him  any  more.  He  busted 
the  mould." 

George  turned,  and  spying  the  new-comer, 
approached,  eyeing  him  with  critical  dis 
favour. 

Captain  saw  a  bear-like  figure,  clad  cap-a- 
pie  in  native  fashion.  Reindeer  pants,  with  the 
hair  inside,  clothed  legs  like  rock  pillars,  while 
out  of  the  loose  squirrel  parka  a  corded  neck 
rose,  brown  and  strong,  above  which  darkly 
gleamed  a  rugged  face  seamed  and  scarred  by 
the  hate  of  Arctic  winters.  He  had  kicked  of! 
his  deer-skin  socks,  and  stood  bare-footed  on 
the  cold  and  draughty  floor,  while  the  poison 
he  had  imbibed  showed  only  in  his  heated  face. 


200  PARDNERS 

Silently  he  extended  a  cracked  and  hardened 
hand,  which  closed  like  the  armoured  claw  of  a 
crustacean  and  tightened  on  the  crunching 
fingers  of  the  other.  Captain's  expression  re 
mained  unchanged  and,  gradually  slackening 
his  grip,  the  sailor  roughly  inquired : 

"  Where'd  you  come  from  ?  " 

"Just  got  in  from  Dawson  yesterday,"  po 
litely  responded  the  stranger. 

"Well!  what're  you  goin'  to  do  now  you're 
here?"  he  demanded. 

"  Stake  some  claims  and  go  to  prospecting,  I 
guess.  You  see,  I  wanted  to  get  in  early  before 
the  rush  next  spring. " 

"Oh!  I  'spose  you're  going  to  jump  some  of 
our  ground,  hey?  Well,  you  ain't!  We  don't 
want  no  claim  jumpers  here,"  disagreeably 
continued  the  seaman;  "we  won't  stand  for  it. 
This  is  my  camp  —  see  ?  I  own  it,  and  these  is 
my  little  children. "  Then,  as  the  other  refused 
to  debate  with  him,  he  resumed,  groping  for  a 
new  ground  of  attack. 

"Say!  I'll  bet  you're  one  of  them  eddicated 


North  of  Fifty -three  201 

dudes,  too,  ain't  you  ?  You  talk  like  a  feller  that 
had  been  to  college,"  and,  as  the  other  assent 
ed,  he  scornfully  called  to  his  friends,  saying 
"  Look  here,  fellers !  Pipe  the  jelly  fish !  I  never 
see  one  of  these  here  animals  that  was  worth  a 
cuss;  They  plays  football  an'  smokes  cigareets 
at  school;  then  when  they're  weaned  they  come 
off  up  here  an'  jump  our  claims  'cause  we  can't 
write  a  location  notice  proper.  They  ain't  no 
good.  I  guess  I'll  stop  it." 

Captain  moved  toward  the  door,  but  the 
whaler  threw  his  bulky  frame  against  it  and 
scowlingly  blocked  the  way. 

"  No,  you  don't.  You  ain't  goin'  to  run  away 
till  I've  had  the  next  dance,  Mister  Eddication ! 
Humph!  I  ain't  begun  to  tell  ye  yet  what  a  use 
less  little  barnacle  you  are. " 

Red  interf erred,  saying:  "Look  'ere,  George, 
this  guy  ain't  no  playmate  of  yourn.  We'll  all 
have  a  jolt  of  this  disturbance  promoter,  an* 
call  it  off. "  Then,  as  the  others  approached  he 
winked  at  Captain,  and  jerked  his  head  slightly 
toward  the  door. 


202  PARDNERS 

The  latter,  heeding  the  signal,  started  out, 
but  George  leaped  after  him  and,  seizing  an 
arm,  whirled  him  back,  roaring: 

"Well,  of  all  the  cussed  impidence  I  ever 
see!  You're  too  high-toned  to  drink  with  us,  are 
you  ?  You  don't  get  out  of  here  now  till  you 
take  a  lickin'  like  a  man. " 

He  reached  over  his  head  and,  grasping  the 
hood  of  his  fur  shirt,  with  one  movement  he 
stripped  it  from  him,  exposing  a  massive  naked 
body,  whose  muscles  swelled  and  knotted  be 
neath  a  skin  as  clear  as  a  maiden's,  while  a 
map  of  angry  scars  strayed  across  the  heavy 
chest. 

As  the  shirt  sailed  through  the  air,  Red 
lightly  vaulted  to  the  bar  and,  diving  at 
George's  naked  middle,  tackled  beautifully, 
crying  to  Captain:  "Get  out  quick;  we'll  hold 
him." 

Others  rushed  forward  and  grasped  the 
bulky  sailor,  but  Captain's  voice  replied:  "I 
sort  of  like  this  place,  and  I  guess  I'll  stay  a 
while.  Turn  him  loose." 


North  of  Fifty-three  203 

"Why,  man,  he'll  kill  ye,"  excitedly  cried 
Slim.  "Get  out!" 

The  captive  hurled  his  peacemakers  from 
him  and,  shaking  off  the  clinging  arms,  drove 
furiously  at  the  insolent  stranger. 

In  the  cramped  limits  of  the  corner  where  he 
stood,  Captain  was  unable  to  avoid  the  big 
man,  who  swept  him  with  a  crash  against  the 
plank  door  at  his  back,  grasping  hungrily  at 
his  throat.  As  his  shoulders  struck,  however, 
he  dropped  to  his  knees  and,  before  the  raging 
George  could  seize  him,  he  avoided  a  blow 
which  would  have  strained  the  rivets  of  a 
strength-tester  and  ducked  under  the  other's 
arms,  leaping  to  the  cleared  centre  of  the 
floor. 

Seldom  had  the  big  man's  rush  been  avoided 
and,  whirling,  he  swung  a  boom-like  arm  at  the 
agile  stranger.  Before  it  landed,  Captain  step 
ped  in  to  meet  his  adversary  and,  with  the 
weight  of  his  body  behind  the  blow,  drove  a 
clenched  and  bony  fist  crashing  into  the  other's 
face.  The  big  head  with  its  blazing  shock  of 


204  PARDNERS 

hair  snapped  backward  and  the  whaler  droop 
ed  to  his  knees  at  the  other's  feet. 

The  drunken  flush  of  victory  swept  over 
Captain  as  he  stood  above  the  swaying  figure; 
then,  suddenly,  he  felt  the  great  bare  arms 
close  about  his  waist  with  a  painful  grip.  He 
struck  at  the  bleeding  face  below  him  and 
wrenched  at  the  circling  bands  which  wheezed 
the  breath  from  his  lungs,  but  the  whaler 
squeezed  him  writhing  to  his  breast,  and,  ris 
ing,  unsteadily  wheeled  across  the  floor  and  in 
a  shiver  of  broken  glass  fell  crashing  against 
the  bar  and  to  the  floor. 

As  the  struggling  men  writhed  upon  the 
planks  the  door  opened  at  the  hurried  entrance 
of  an  excited  group,  which  paused  at  the  sight 
of  the  ruin,  then,  rushing  forward,  tore  the  men 
apart. 

The  panting  Berserker  strained  at  the  arms 
about  his  glistening  body,  while  Captain,  with 
sobbing  sighs,  relieved  his  aching  lungs  and 
watched  his  enemy,  who  frothed  at  the  inter 
ference. 


North  of  Fifty-three  205 

"It  was  George's  fault,"  explained  Slim  to 
the  questions  of  the  arrivals.  "  This  feller  tried 
to  make  a  get-away,  but  George  had  to  have 
his  amusement." 

A  new-comer  addressed  the  squaw-man  in  a 
voice  as  cold  as  the  wind.  "Cut  this  out, 
George!  This  is  a  friend  of  mine.  You're  mak 
ing  this  camp  a  reg'lar  hell  for  strangers,  and 
now  I'm  goin'  to  tap  your  little  snap.  Cool  off 
-see?" 

Jones's  reputation  as  a  bad  gun-man  went 
hand  in  hand  with  his  name  as  a  good  gambler, 
and  his  scanty  remarks  invariably  evoked  atten 
tive  answers,  so  George  explained : "  I  don't  like 
him  Jones,  and  I  was  jus'  makin'  him  over  to 
look  like  a  man.  I'll  do  it  yet,  too,"  he  flashed 
wrathfully  at  his  quiet  antagonist. 

"  Tears  to  me  like  he's  took  a  hand  in  the 
remodelling  himself,"  replied  the  gambler, 
"but  if  you're  lookin'  for  something  to  do, 
here's  your  chance.  Windy  Jim  just  drove  in 
and  says  Barton  and  Kid  Sullivan  are  adrift  on 
the  ice." 


206  PARDNERS 

"What's  that?"  questioned  eager  voices, 
and,  forgetting  the  recent  trouble  at  the  news, 
the  crowd  pressed  forward  anxiously. 

"They  was  crossin'  the  bay  and  got  carried 
out  by  the  off-shore  gale,"  explained  Jones. 
"  Windy  was  follerin'  'em  when  the  ice  ahead 
parted  and  begun  movin'  out.  He  tried  to  yell 
to  'em,  but  they  was  too  far  away  to  hear  in  the 
storm.  He  managed  to  get  back  to  the  land  and 
follered  the  shore  ice  around.  He's  over  at 
Hunter's  cabin  now,  most  dead,  face  and  hands 
froze  pretty  bad. " 

A  torrent  of  questions  followed  and  many 
suggestions  as  to  the  fate  of  the  men. 

"  They'll  freeze  before  they  can  get  ashore, " 
said  one. 

"The  ice-pack'll  break  up  in  this  wind," 
added  another,  "and  if  they  don't  drown, 
they'll  freeze  before  the  floe  comes  in  close 
enough  for  them  to  land." 

From  the  first  announcement  of  his  friends' 
peril,  Captain  had  been  thinking  rapidly.  His 
body,  sore  from  his  long  trip  and  aching  from 


North  of  Fifty-three  207 

the  hug  of  his  recent  encounter,  cried  woefully 
for  rest,  but  his  voice  rose  calm  and  clear: 
"We've  got  to  get  them  off,"  he  said.  "Who 
will  go  with  me  ?  Three  is  enough. " 

The  clamouring  voices  ceased,  and  the  men 
wheeled  at  the  sound,  gazing  incredulously  at 
the  speaker.  "What!  — "In  this  storm ?"- 
"You're  crazy,"  many  voices  said. 

He  gazed  appealingly  at  the  faces  before 
him.  Brave  and  adventurous  men  he  knew 
them  to  be,  jesting  with  death,  and  tempered 
to  perils  in  this  land  where  hardship  rises  with 
the  dawn,  but  they  shook  their  ragged  heads 
hopelessly. 

"We  must  save  them!"  resumed  Captain 
hotly.  "Barton  and  I  played  as  children  to 
gether,  and  if  there's  not  a  man  among  you 
who's  got  the  nerve  to  follow  me  —  I'll  go  alone 
by  Heavens!" 

In  the  silence  of  the  room,  he  pulled  the  cap 
about  his  ears  and,  tying  it  snugly  under  his 
chin,  drew  on  his  huge  fur  mittens ;  then  with  a 
scornful  laugh  he  turned  toward  the  door. 


208  PARDNERS 

He  paused  as  his  eye  caught  the  swollen  face 
of  Big  George.  Blood  had  stiffened  in  the  heavy 
creases  of  his  face  like  rusted  stringers  in  a 
ledge,  while  his  mashed  and  discoloured  lips 
protruded  thickly.  His  hair  gleamed  red,  and 
the  sweat  had  dried  upon  his  naked  shoulders, 
streaked  with  dirt  and  flecked  with  spots  of 
blood,  yet  the  battered  features  shone  with  the 
unconquered,  fearless  light  of  a  rough,  strong 
man. 

Captain  strode  to  him  with  outstretched 
hand.  "You're  a  man,"  he  said.  "You've  got 
the  nerve,  George,  and  you'll  go  with  me,  won't 
you?" 

"What!  Me?"  questioned  the  sailor  vague 
ly.  His  wondering  glance  left  Captain,  and 
drifted  round  the  circle  of  shamed  and  silent 
faces  —  then  he  straightened  stiffly  and  cried: 
"Will  I  go  with  you?  Certainly!  I'll  go  to - 
with  you." 

Ready  hands  harnessed  the  dogs,  dragged 
from  protected  nooks  where  they  sought  cover 
from  the  storm  which  moaned  and  whistled 


North  of  Fifty-three  209 

round  the  low  houses.  Endless  ragged  folds  of 
sleet  whirled  out  of  the  north,  then  writhed  and 
twisted  past,  vanishing  into  the  grey  veil 
which  shrouded  the  landscape  in  a  twilight 
gloom. 

The  fierce  wind  sank  the  cold  into  the  aching 
flesh  like  a  knife  and  stiffened  the  face  to  a 
whitening  mask,  while  a  fusillade  of  frozen 
ice-particles  beat  against  the  eyeballs  with 
blinding  fury. 

As  Captain  emerged  from  his  cabin,  furred 
and  hooded,  he  found  a  long  train  of  crouching, 
whining  animals  harnessed  and  waiting,  while 
muffled  figures  stocked  the  sled  with  robes  and 
food  and  stimulants. 

Big  George  approached  through  the  whirl 
ing  white,  a  great  squat  figure  with  fluttering 
squirrel  tails  blowing  from  his  parka,  and  at 
his  heels  there  trailed  a  figure,  skin-clad  and 
dainty. 

"  It's  my  wife, "  he  explained  briefly  to  Cap 
tain.  "  She  won't  let  me  go  alone. " 

They  gravely  bade  farewell  to  all,  and  the 


210  PARDNERS 

little  crowd  cheered  lustily  against  the  whine  of 
the  blizzard  as,  with  cracking  whip  and  hoarse 
shouts,  they  were  wrapped  in  the  cloudy  wind 
ing  sheet  of  snow. 

Arctic  storms  have  an  even  sameness ;  the  in 
tense  cold,  the  heartless  wind  which  augments 
tenfold  the  chill  of  the  temperature,  the  air 
thick  and  dark  with  stinging  flakes  rushing  by 
in  an  endless  cloud.  A  drifting,  freezing,  shift 
ing  eternity  of  snow,  driven  by  a  ravening  gale 
which  sweeps  the  desolate,  bald  wastes  of  the 
Northland. 

The  little  party  toiled  through  the  smother 
till  they  reached  the  "egloos"  under  the  breast 
of  the  tall,  coast  bluffs,  where  coughing  Eski 
mos  drilled  patiently  at  ivory  tusks  and  gam 
bled  the  furs  from  their  backs  at  stud-horse 
poker. 

To  George's  inquiries  they  answered  that 
their  largest  canoe  was  the  three-holed  bidarka 
on  the  cache  outside.  Owing  to  the  small  circu 
lar  openings  in  its  deck,  this  was  capable  of 


North  of  Fifty -three  2 1 1 

holding  but  three  passengers,  and  Captain 
said :  "  We'll  have  to  make  two  trips,  George. " 

"Two  trips,  eh?"  answered  the  other. 
"  We'll  be  doin'  well  if  we  last  through  one,  I'm 
thinking. " 

Lashing  the  unwieldy  burden  upon  the  sled, 
they  fought  their  way  along  the  coast  again  till 
George  declared  they  were  opposite  the  point 
where  their  friends  went  adrift.  They  slid  their 
light  craft  through  the  ragged  wall  of  ice  hum 
mocks  guarding  the  shore  pack,  and  dimly 
saw,  in  the  grey  beyond  them,  a  stretch  of 
angry  waters  mottled  by  drifting  cakes  and 
floes. 

George  spoke  earnestly  to  his  wife,  instruct 
ing  her  to  keep  the  team  in  constant  motion  up 
and  down  the  coast  a  rifle-shot  in  either  direc 
tion,  and  to  listen  for  a  signal  of  the  return. 
Then  he  picked  her  up  as  he  would  a  babe,  and 
she  kissed  his  storm-beaten  face. 

"She's  been  a  good  squaw  to  me,"  he  said, 
as  they  pushed  their  dancing  craft  out  into  the 
breath  of  the  gale,  "and  I've  always  done  the 


PARDNERS 

square  thing  by  her;  I  s'pose  she'll  go  back  to 
her  people  now,  though." 

The  wind  hurried  them  out  from  land,  while 
it  drove  the  sea-water  in  freezing  spray  over 
their  backs  and  changed  their  fur  garments 
into  scaly  armour,  as  they  worked  through  the 
ice  cakes,  peering  with  strained  eyes  for  a  sign 
of  their  friends. 

The  sailor,  with  deft  strokes,  steered  them 
between  the  grinding  bergs,  raising  his  voice  in 
long  signals  like  the  weird  cry  of  a  siren. 

Twisting  back  and  forth  through  the  floes, 
they  held  to  their  quest,  now  floating  with  the 
wind,  now  paddling  desperately  in  a  race  with 
some  drifting  mass  which  dimly  towered  above 
them  and  splintered  hungrily  against  its  neigh 
bour  close  in  their  wake. 

Captain  emptied  his  six-shooter  till  his 
numbed  fingers  grew  rigid  as  the  trigger,  and 
always  at  his  back  swelled  the  deep  shouts  of 
the  sailor,  who,  with  practised  eye  and  mighty 
strokes,  forced  their  way  through  the  closing 
lanes  between  the  jaws  of  the  ice  pack. 


North  of  Fifty -three  213 

At  last,  beaten  and  tossed,  they  rested  dis 
heartened  and  hopeless.  Then,  as  they  drifted, 
a  sound  struggled  to  them  against  the  wind  —  a 
faint  cry,  illusive  and  fleeting  as  a  dream  voice 
—  and,  still  doubting,  they  heard  it  again. 

"Thank  God!  We'll  save  'em  yet,"  cried 
Captain,  and  they  drove  the  canoe  boiling  to 
ward  the  sound. 

Barton  and  Sullivan  had  fought  the  cold  and 
wind  stoutly  hour  after  hour,  till  they  found 
their  great  floe  was  breaking  up  in  the  heaving 
waters.  < 

Then  the  horror  of  it  had  struck  the  Kid,  till 
he  raved  and  cursed  up  and  down  their  little 
island,  as  it  dwindled  gradually  to  a  small  acre. 

He  had  finally  yielded  to  the  weight  of  the 
cold  which  crushed  resistance  out  of  him,  and 
settled,  despairing  and  listless,  upon  the  ice. 
Barton  dragged  him  to  his  feet  and  forced  him 
round  their  rocking  prison,  begging  him  to 
brace  up,  to  fight  it  out  like  a  man,  till  the 
other  insisted  on  resting,  and  dropped  to  his 
seat  again. 


214  PARDNERS 

The  older  man  struck  deliberately  at  the 
whitening  face  of  his  freezing  companion,  who 
recognized  the  well-meant  insult  and  refused 
to  be  roused  into  activity.  Then  to  their  ears 
had  come  the  faint  cries  of  George,  and,  in  an 
swer  to  their  screams,  through  the  gloom  they 
beheld  a  long,  covered,  skin  canoe,  and  the 
anxious  faces  of  their  friends. 

Captain  rose  from  his  cramped  seat,  and, 
ripping  his  crackling  garments  from  the  boat 
where  they  had  frozen,  he  wriggled  out  of  the 
hole  in  the  deck  and  grasped  the  weeping 
Barton. 

"Come,  come,  old  boy!  It's  all  right  now," 
he  said. 

"Oh,  Charlie,  Charlie!"  cried  the  other.  "I 
might  have  known  you'd  try  to  save  us.  You're 
just  in  time,  though,  for  the  Kid's  about  all  in." 

Sullivan  apathetically  nodded  and  sat  down 
again. 

"Hurry  up  there;  this  ain't  no  G.  A.  R.  En 
campment,  and  you  ain't  got  no  time  to  spare," 
said  George,  who  had  dragged  the  canoe  out 


North  of  Fifty -three  215 

and,  with  a  paddle,  broke  the  sheets  of  ice 
which  covered  it.  "  It'll  be  too  dark  to  see  any 
thing  in  half  an  hour." 

The  night,  hastened  by  the  storm,  was  clos 
ing  rapidly,  and  they  realized  another  need  of 
haste,  for,  even  as  they  spoke,  a  crack  had 
crawled  through  the  ice-floe  where  they  stood, 
and,  widening  as  it  went,  left  but  a  heaving 
cake  supporting  them. 

George  spoke  quietly  to  Captain,  while  Bar 
ton  strove  to  animate  the  Kid.  'You  and 
Barton  must  take  him  ashore  and  hurry  him 
down  to  the  village.  He's  most  gone  now." 

"But  you?"  questioned  the  other.  "We'll 
have  to  come  back  for  you,  as  soon  as  we  put 
him  ashore." 

"Never  mind  me,"  roughly  interrupted 
George.  "  It's  too  late  to  get  back  here.  When 
you  get  ashore  it'll  be  dark.  Besides  Sullivan's 
freezing,  and  you'll  have  to  rush  him  through 
quick.  I'll  stay  here." 

"No!  No!  George!"  cried  the  other,  as  the 
meaning  of  it  bore  in  upon  him.  "I  got  you 


216  PARDNERS 

into  this  thing,  and  it's  my  place  to  stay  here. 
You  must  go  —  " 

But  the  big  man  had  hurried  to  Sullivan, 
and,  seizing  him  in  his  great  hands,  shook 
the  drowsy  one  like  a  rat,  cursing  and  beating 
a  goodly  share  of  warmth  back  into  him.  Then 
he  dragged  the  listless  burden  to  the  canoe 
and  forced  him  to  a  seat  in  the  middle  opening. 

"  Come,  come,"  he  cried  to  the  others;  "you 
can't  spend  all  night  here.  If  you  want  to  save 
the  Kid,  you've  got  to  hurry.  You  take  the  front 
seat  there,  Barton,"  and,  as  he  did  so,  George 
turned  to  the  protesting  Captain:  "Shut  up, 
curse  you,  and  get  in!" 

"  I  won't  do  it,"  rebelled  the  other.  "I  can't 
let  you  lay  down  your  life  in  this  way,  when  I 
made  you  come. " 

George  thrust  a  cold  face  within  an  inch  of 
the  other's  and  grimly  said:  "If  they  hadn't 
stopped  me,  I'd  beat  you  into  dog-meat  this 
morning,  and  if  you  don't  quit  this  snivelling 
I'll  do  it  yet.  Now  get  in  there  and  paddle  to 
beat  —  or  you'll  never  make  it  back.  Quick!" 


North  of  Fifty-three  217 

"I'll  come  back  for  you  then,  George,  if  I 
live  to  the  shore,"  Captain  cried,  while  the 
other  slid  the  burdened  canoe  into  the  icy 
waters. 

As  they  drove  the  boat  into  the  storm,  Cap 
tain  realized  the  difficulty  of  working  their  way 
against  the  gale.  On  him  fell  the  added  burden 
of  holding  their  course  into  the  wind  and 
avoiding  the  churning  ice  cakes.  The  spray 
whipped  into  his  face  like  shot,  and  froze  as  it 
clung  to  his  features.  He  strained  at  his  paddle 
till  the  sweat  soaked  out  of  him  and  the  cold  air 
filled  his  aching  lungs. 

j  Unceasingly  the  merciless  frost  cut  his  face 
like  a  keen  blade,  till  he  felt  the  numb  paraly 
sis  which  told  him  his  features  were  hardening 
under  the  touch  of  the  cold. 

An  arm's  length  ahead  the  shoulders  of  the 
Kid  protruded  from  the  deck  hole  where  he 
had  sunk  again  into  the  death  sleep,  while 
Barton,  in  the  forward  seat,  leaned  wearily 
on  his  ice-clogged  paddle,  moaning  as  he  strove 
to  shelter  his  face  from  the  sting  of  the  blizzard. 


218  PARDNERS 

An  endless  time  they  battled  with  the  storm, 
slowly  gaining,  foot  by  foot,  till  in  the  dark 
ness  ahead  they  saw  the  wall  of  shore  ice  and 
swung  into  its  partial  shelter. 

Dragging  the  now  unconscious  Sullivan  from 
the  boat,  Captain  rolled  and  threshed  him, 
while  Barton,  too  weak  and  exhausted  to  assist, 
feebly  strove  to  warm  his  stiffened  limbs. 

In  answer  to  their  signals,  the  team  appeared, 
maddened  by  the  lash  of  the  squaw.  Then  they 
wrapped  Sullivan  in  warm  robes,  and  forced 
scorching  brandy  down  his  throat,  till  he 
coughed  weakly  and  begged  them  to  let  him 
rest. 

"  You  must  hurry  him  to  the  Indian  village, " 
directed  Captain.  "  He'll  only  lose  some  fingers 
and  toes  now,  maybe;  but  you've  got  to 
hurry!" 

"Aren't  you  coming,  too?  queried  Barton. 
"  We'll  hire  some  Eskimos  to  go  after  George. 
I'll  pay  'em  anything. " 

"No,  I'm  going  back  to  him  now;  he'd 
freeze  before  we  could  send  help,  and,  besides, 


North  of  Fifty-three  219 

they  wouldn't  come  out  in  the  storm  and  the 
dark." 

"But  you  can't  work  that  big  canoe  alone.  If 
you  get  out  there  and  don't  find  him  you'll 
never  get  back.  Charlie!  let  me  go,  too,"  he 
said;  then  apologized.  "I'm  afraid  I  won't  last, 
though;  I'm  too  weak. " 

The  squaw,  who  had  questioned  not  at  the 
absence  of  her  lord,  now  touched  Captain's 
arm.  "Come,"  she  said;  "I  go  with  you." 
Then  addressing  Barton,  "You  quick  go  Ind 
ian  house;  white  man  die,  mebbe.  Quick!  I  go 
Big  George." 

"Ah,  Charlie,  I'm  afraid  you'll  never  make 
it,"  cried  Barton,  and,  wringing  his  friend's 
hand,  he  staggered  into  the  darkness  behind 
the  sled  wherein  lay  the  fur-bundled  Sullivan. 

Captain  felt  a  horror  of  the  starving  waters 
rise  up  in  him  and  a  panic  shook  him  fiercely, 
till  he  saw  the  silent  squaw  waiting  for  him  at 
the  ice  edge.  He  shivered  as  the  wind  searched 
through  his  dampened  parka  and  hardened  the 
wet  clothing  next  to  his  body,  but  he  took  his 


220  PARDNERS 

place  and  dug  the  paddle  fiercely  into  the 
water,  till  the  waves  licked  the  hair  of  his 
gauntlets. 

The  memory  of  that  scudding  trip  through 
the  darkness  was  always  cloudy  and  visioned. 
Periods  of  keen  alertness  alternated  with  mo 
ments  when  his  weariness  bore  upon  him  till  he 
stiffly  bent  to  his  work,  wondering  what  it  all 
meant. 

It  was  the  woman's  sharpened  ear  which 
caught  the  first  answering  cry,  and  her  hands 
which  steered  the  intricate  course  to  the  heav 
ing  berg  where  the  sailor  crouched,  for,  at  their 
approach,  Captain  had  yielded  to  the  drowse 
of  weariness  and,  in  his  relief  at  the  finding,  the 
blade  floated  from  his  listless  hands. 

He  dreamed  quaint  dreams,  broken  by  the 
chilling  lash  of  spray  from  the  strokes  of  the 
others,  as  they  drove  the  craft  back  against  the 
wind,  and  he  only  partly  awoke  from  his  leth 
argy  when  George  wrenched  him  from  his  seat 
and  forced  him  down  the  rough  trail  toward 
warmth  and  safety. 


North  of  Fifty-three 

Soon,  however,  the  stagnant  blood  tingled 
through  his  veins,  and  under  the  shelter  of  the 
bluffs  they  reached  the  village,  where  they 
found  the  anxious  men  waiting. 

Skilful  natives  had  worked  the  frost  from 
Sullivan's  members,  and  the  stimulants  in  the 
sled  had  put  new  life  into  Barton  as  well.  So, 
as  the  three  crawled  wearily  through  the  dog- 
filled  tunnel  of  the  egloo,  they  were  met  by 
two  wet-eyed  and  thankful  men,  who  silently 
wrung  their  hands  or  uttered  broken  words. 

When  they  had  been  despoiled  of  their  frozen 
furs,  and  the  welcome  heat  of  whisky  and  fire 
had  met  in  their  blood,  Captain  approached 
the  whaler,  who  rested  beside  his  mate. 

"George,  you're  the  bravest  man  I  ever 
knew,  and  your  woman  is  worthy  of  you, "  he 
said.  He  continued  slowly,  "I'm  sorry  about 
the  fight  this  morning,  too." 

The  big  man  rose  and,  crushing  the  extend 
ed  palm  in  his  grasp,  said :  "  We'll  just  let  that 
go  double,  partner.  You're  as  game  as  I  ever 
see."  Then  he  added:  "It  was  too  bad  them 


222  PARDNERS 

fellers  interferred  jest  when  they  did  —  but  we 
can  finish  it  up  whenever  you  say,"  and  as  the 
other,  smiling,  shook  his  head,  he  continued : 
"Well,  I'm  glad  of  it,  'cause  you'd  sure  beat 
me  the  next  time." 


WHERE  NORTHERN  LIGHTS 
COME  DOWN  O'  NIGHTS 


WHERE   NORTHERN  LIGHTS 
COME  DOWN    O'  NIGHTS 

The  Mission  House  at  Togiak  stands  forlornly 
on  a  wind-swept  Alaskan  spit,  while  huddled 
around  it  a  swarm  of  dirt-covered  "igloos" 
grovel  in  an  ecstacy  of  abasement. 

Many  natives  crawled  out  of  these  and 
stared  across  the  bay  as  down  a  gully  came  an 
Arctic  caravan,  men  and  dogs,  black  against 
the  deadly  whiteness.  Ahead  swung  the  guide, 
straddling  awkwardly  on  his  five  foot  webs, 
while  the  straining  pack  pattered  at  his  heels. 
Big  George,  the  driver,  urged  them  with  strong 
words,  idioms  of  the  Northland,  and  his  long 
whip  bit  sharply  at  their  legs. 

His  companion,  clinging  to  the  sled,  stumbled 
now  and  then,  while  his  face,  splitting  from  the 
snap  of  the  frost,  was  smothered  in  a  muffler. 


226  PARDNERS 

Sometimes  he  fell,  plunging  into  the  snow,  ris 
ing  painfully,  and  groaning  with  the  misery  of 
* '  snow-blindness . " 

"  Most  there  now,  Cap,  keep  up  your  grit. " 

"I'm  all  right,"  answered  the  afflicted  man, 
wearily.  "Don't  mind  me." 

George,  too,  had  suffered  from  the  sheen  of 
the  unbroken  whiteness,  and,  while  his  eyes 
had  not  wholly  closed,  he  saw  but  dimly.  His 
cheeks  were  grease-smeared,  and  blackened 
with  charred  wood  to  break  the  snow-glare, 
but  through  his  mask  showed  signs  of  suffer 
ing,  while  his  blood-shot  eyes  dripped  scald 
ing  tears  and  throbbed  distressfully.  For  days 
he  had  not  dared  to  lose  sight  of  the  guide. 
Once  he  had  caught  him  sneaking  the  dogs 
away,  and  he  feared  he  had  killed  the  man 
for  a  time.  Now  Jaska  broke  trail  ahead, 
his  sullen,  swollen  features  baleful  in  their 
injury. 

Down  the  steep  bank  they  slid,  across  the 
humped  up  sea  ice  at  the  river  mouth  and  into 
the  village. 


Where  Northern  Lights  Come  Down 

At  the  greeting  of  their  guide  to  his  tribes 
men,  George  started.  Twelve  years  of  coast 
life  had  taught  him  the  dialect  from  Point 
Barrow  south,  and  he  glanced  at  Captain  to 
find  whether  he,  too,  had  heard  the  message. 
As  Jaska  handed  a  talisman  to  the  chief  he 
strode  to  him  and  snatched  it. 

"Oho!  It's  Father  Orloff,  is  it  ?  D  --  him!" 
He  gazed  at  the  token,  a  white  spruce  chip 
with  strange  marks  and  carvings. 

"What  does  it  mean,  George?"  said  the 
blind  man. 

"It's  a  long  story,  Charlie,  and  black.  You 
should  have  known  it  before  we  started.  I'm 
a  marked  man  in  this  coast  country.  It's  Or 
loff 's  work,  the  renegade.  'Father,'  he  calls 
himself.  Father  to  these  devils  he  rules  and 
robs  for  himself  in  the  name  of  the  Church. 
His  hate  is  bitter,  and  he'd  have  my  life  if 
these  watery-livered  curs  didn't  dread  the 
sound  of  my  voice.  God  help  him  when  we 
meet." 

He  shook   his  hairy  claws   at  the   hostile 


228  PARDNERS 

circle,  then  cried  to  the  chief  in  the  native 
tongue  :— 

"Oh,  Shaman!  We  come  bleeding  and 
weary.  Hunger  grips  us  and  our  bones  are 
stiff  with  frost.  The  light  is  gone  from  my 
brother's  eyes  and  we  are  sick.  Open  you  the 
door  to  the  Mission  House  that  the  'Minoks' 
may  rest  and  grow  strong." 

The  Indians  clustered  before  the  portal, 
with  its  rude  cross  above,  and  stared  malig 
nantly,  while  the  chief  spoke.  At  the  name  of 
his  enemy  the  unsightly  eyes  of  George  gleam 
ed,  and  he  growled  contemptuously,  advanc 
ing  among  them.  They  scattered  at  the  man 
ner  of  his  coming,  and  he  struck  the  padlocked 
door  till  it  rattled  stiffly.  Then  spying  the  cross 
overhead  he  lifted  up  and  gripped  the  wood.  It 
came  away  ripping,  and  with  wails  of  rage  and 
horror  at  the  sacrilege,  they  closed  about  him. 

"Here,  Cap!  Bust  her  in  quick!"  He  drag 
ged  Captain  before  the  entrance,  thrusting 
the  weapon  upon  him,  then  ran  ferociously 
among  the  people.  He  snatched  them  to  him, 


Where  Northern  Lights  Come  Down 

cuffing  like  a  bear  and  trampling  them  into 
the  snow.  Those  who  came  into  the  reach  of 
his  knotty  arms  crumpled  up  and  twisted  un 
der  his  feet.  He  whirled  into  the  group,  roar 
ing  hoarsely,  his  angry,  grease-blackened  face 
hideous  with  rage.  The  aborigine  is  not  a 
fighting  machine;  for  him  the  side-step  and 
counter  have  no  being.  They  melted  ahead  of 
his  blazing  wrath,  and  he  whisked  them,  flee 
ing,  by  their  garments,  so  that  they  felt  the 
stamp  of  his  moccasined  heels. 

Captain  dragged  the  team  within,  and 
George  following,  blocked  the  shattered  door. 

"We're  safe  as  long  as  we  stay  in  the 
Church,"  said  he. 

"Right  of  sanctuary,  eh?  Does  it  occur  to 
you  how  we're  going  to  get  out  ?" 

"Never  mind,  we'll  get  out  somehow,"  said 
he,  and  that  night,  as  Charlie  Captain,  late 
University  man  and  engineer,  lay  with  eyes 
swathed  in  steaming  cloths,  the  whaler  spoke 
operosely  and  with  the  bitterness  of  great 
wrong. 


230  PARDNERS 

"It  happened  when  we  rocked  the  bars  of 
Forty  Mile,  before  ever  a  Chechako  had 
crossed  the  Chilcoot.  I  went  over  to  the  head 
waters  of  the  Tanana.  Into  the  big  valley  I 
went  and  got  lost  in  the  Flats.  'Tis  a  wild 
country,  rimmed  by  high  mountains,  full  of 
niggerheads  and  tundra,  with  the  river  windin' 
clean  back  to  the  source  of  the  Copper.  I  run 
out  of  grub.  We  always  did  them  days,  and 
built  a  raft  to  float  down  to  the  Yukon.  A  race 
with  starvation,  and  a  dead  heat  it  near  proved, 
too,  though  I  had  a  shade  the  best  of  it.  I  drift 
ed  out  into  the  main  river,  ravin'  mad,  my 
'Mukluks'  eat  off  and  my  moose-hide  gun 
cover  inside  of  me. 

"A  girl  spied  me  from  the  village,  and  'twas 
her  brought  me  ashore  in  her  birch-bark  and 
tended  me  in  her  wick-i-up  till  reason  came 
and  the  blood  ran  through  me  again. 

"I  mind  seein'  a  white  man  stand  around 
at  times  and  hearin'  him  beg  her  to  leave  me  to 
the  old  squaws.  She  didn't  though.  She  gave 
me  bits  of  moose  meat  and  berries  and  dried 


Where  Northern  Lights  Come  Down  231 

salmon,  and  when  I  come  to  one  day  I  saw  she 
was  little  and  brown  and  pleadin'  and  her 
clothes  all  covered  with  beads.  Her  eyes  was  big 
and  sad,  Cap,  and  dimples  poked  into  her 
cheeks  when  she  laughed. 

"'Twas  then  that  Orloff  takes  a  hand — 
the  white  man.  A  priest  he  called  himself; 
breed,  Russian.  Maybe  he  was,  but  a  blacker 
hearted  thief  never  wronged  a  child.  He  wanted 
the  girl,  Metla,  and  so  did  I.  When  I  asked  her 
old  man  for  her  he  said  she  was  promised  to 
the  Russian.  I  laughed  at  him,  and  a  chief 
hates  to  be  mocked.  You  know  what  sway  the 
Church  has  over  these  Indians.  Well,  Orloff  is 
a  strong  man.  He  held  'em  like  a  rock.  He 
worked  on  'em  till  one  day  the  tribemen  came 
to  me  in  a  body  and  said,  *  Go!' 

" '  Give  me  the  girl,  and  I  will,'  says  I. 

"  Orloff  sneered.  *  She  was  mine  for  a  month 
before  ye  came,'  says  he  with  the  fiend  showin' 
back  of  his  eyes.  *  Do  ye  want  her  now  ?' 

"For  a  minute  I  believed  him.  I  struck  once 
to  kill,  and  he  went  down.  They  closed  on  me 


PARDNERS 

as  fast  as  I  shook  'em  off.  'Twas  a  beautiful 
sight  for  a  ruction,  on  the  high  banks  over  the 
river,  but  I  was  like  water  from  the  sickness.  I 
fought  to  get  at  their  priest  where  he  lay,  to 
stamp  out  his  grinning  face  before  they 
downed  me,  but  I  was  beat  back  to  the  bluff 
and  I  battled  with  my  heels  over  the  edge.  I 
broke  a  pole  from  the  fish-rack  and  a  good 
many  went  down.  Then  I  heard  Metla  calling 
softly  from  below :  — 

"  Jump!'  she  said.  'Big  one,  jump.' 

"  She  had  loosed  a  canoe  at  the  landing  and 
now  held  it  in  the  boiling  current  underneath, 
paddling  desperately. 

"As  they  ran  out  of  the  tents  with  their 
rifles  I  leaped. 

"A  long  drop  and  cold  water,  but  I  hit  feet 
first.  When  I  rose  the  little  girl  was  along 
side. 

"  It's  a  ticklish  thing  to  crawl  over  the  stern 
of  a  canoe  in  the  spatter  of  slugs,  with  the  roar 
of  muzzle-loaders  above.  It's  shakin'  to  the 
nerves,  but  the  maid  never  flinched,  not  even 


Where  Northern  Lights  Come  Down  233 

when  a  bullet  split  the  gunnel.  She  ripped  a 
piece  of  her  dress  and  plugged  a  hole  under 
the  water  line  while  I  paddled  out  of  range. 

"The  next  winter  at  Holy  Cross  she  ran  to 
me  shaking  one  day. 

"'He  is  here!  He  is  here!  Oh,  Big  man,  I  am 
afraid!' 

"' Who's  here? 'says  I. 

"'He  is  here  —  Father  OrloflY  and  her  eyes 
was  round  and  scared  so  that  I  took  her  up  and 
kissed  her  while  she  clung  to  me  —  she  was 
such  a  little  girl. 

"He  spoke  to  me  at  the  water-hole,  "I  have 
come  for  you."  I  ran  very  fast,  but  he  came  be 
hind.  "Where  is  George  ?"  '  he  said. 

"I  went  out  of  the  cabin  down  to  the  Mis 
sion,  and  into  the  house  of  Father  Barnum. 
He  was  there. 

"  *  Orloff !  What  do  ye  want  ? '  I  says. 

"Father  Barnum  speaks  up  -  'he's  known 
for  a  good  man  the  length  of  the  river.  George,' 
says  he,  'Father  Orloff  tells  me  you  stole  the 
girl  Metla  from  her  tribe.  'Tis  a  shameful 


234  PARDNERS 

thing  for  a  white  to  take  a  red  girl  for  his  wife, 
but  it's  a  crime  to  live  as  you  do.' 

"'  What?  'says  I. 

'"We  can't  sell  you  provisions  nor  allow 
you  to  stay  in  the  village.' 

"Orloff  grins.  'You  must  go  on,'  he  says, 
'or  give  her  up.' 

" '  No !  I'll  do  neither.'  And  I  shows  the  paper 
from  the  missionary  at  Nulato  statin'  that  we 
were  married.  *  She's  my  wife,'  says  I, '  and  too 
good  for  me.  She's  left  her  people  and  her  gods, 
and  I'll  care  for  her.'  I  saw  how  it  hurt  Orloff, 
and  I  laid  my  hand  on  his  shoulder  close  to 
the  neck.  'I  distrust  ye,  and  sure  as  Fate  ye'll 
die  the  shocking  death  if  ever  harm  comes  to 
the  little  one.' 

"That  was  the  winter  of  the  famine,  though 
every  winter  was  the  same  then,  and  I  went 
to  Anvik  for  grub  —  took  all  the  strong  men 
and  dogs  in  the  village.  I  was  afraid  when 
I  left,  too,  for  'twas  the  time  I  should  have  been 
with  her,  but  there  was  no  one  else  to  go. 

"'When  you  come  back,'  she  said,  'there 


Where  Northern  Lights  Come  Down  235 

will  be  another  —  a  little  boy  —  and  he  will 
grow  mighty  and  strong,  like  his  father.'  She 
hung  her  arms  around  me,  Cap,  and  I  left  with 
her  kisses  warm  on  my  lips. 

"It  was  a  terrible  trip,  the  river  wet  with 
overflows  and  the  cut-offs  drifted  deep,  so  I 
drove  back  into  Holy  Cross  a  week  late  with 
bleedin'  dogs  and  frozen  Indians  strainin'  at 
the  sled  ropes. 

"I  heard  the  wail  of  the  old  women  before 
I  come  to  the  cabin,  and  when  Metla  had 
sobbed  the  story  out  in  her  weakness,  I  went 
back  into  the  dark  and  down  to  the  Mission. 
I  remember  how  the  Northern  Lights  flared 
over  the  hills  above,  and  the  little  spruces  on 
the  summit  looked  to  me  like  headstones, 
black  against  the  moon  —  and  I  laughed 
when  I  saw  the  snow  red  in  the  night  glare,  for 
it  meant  blood  and  death. 

"  It  was  as  lusty  a  babe  as  ever  crowed,  but 
Orloff  had  come  to  the  sick  bed  and  sent  her 
squaws  away.  Baptism  and  such  things  he 
said  he'd  do.  The  little  fellow  died  that  night. 


236  PARDNERS 

"They  say  the  Mission  door  was  locked  and 
barred,  but  I  pushed  through  it  like  paper  and 
came  into  Father  Barnum's  house,  where  they 
sat.  Fifty  below  is  bad  for  the  naked  flesh.  I 
broke  in,  bare-headed,  mittenless,  and  I'd 
froze  some  on  the  way  down.  He  saw  murder 
in  my  eyes  and  tried  to  run,  but  I  got  him  as  he 
went  out  of  the  room.  He  tore  his  throat  loose 
from  my  stiffened  fingers  and  went  into  the 
church,  but  I  beat  down  the  door  with  my 
naked  fists,  mocking  at  his  prayers  inside,  and 
may  I  never  be  closer  to  death  than  Orloff  was 
that  night. 

"Then  a  squaw  tugged  at  my  parka. 

"'She  is  dying,  Anguk,'  she  said,  and  I  ran 
back  up  the  hill  with  the  cold  bitin'  at  my  heart. 

"There  was  no  death  that  night  in  Holy 
Cross,  though  God  knows  one  naked  soul  was 
due  to  walk  out  onto  the  snow.  At  daylight, 
when  I  came  back  for  him,  he  had  fled  down 
the  river  with  the  fastest  dogs,  and  to  this  day 
I've  never  seen  his  face,  though  'tis  often  I've 
felt  his  hate. 


Where  Northern  Lights  Come  Down  237 

"He's  grown  into  the  strongest  missionary 
on  the  coast,  and  he  never  lets  a  chance  go  by 
to  harry  me  or  the  girl. 

"D'ye  mind  the  time  'Skagway'  Bennet 
died  ?  We  was  pardners  up  Norton  Sound  way 
when  he  was  killed.  They  thought  he  suicided, 
but  I  know.  I  found  a  cariboo  belt  in  the  brush 
near  camp  —  the  kind  they  make  on  the 
Kuskokwim,  Father  Orloff's  country.  His 
men  took  the  wrong  one,  that's  all. 

"I'm  sorry  I  didn't  tell  ye  this,  Cap,  be 
fore  we  started,  for  now  we're  into  the  South 
Country,  where  he  owns  the  natives.  He 
knows  we've  come,  as  the  blood-token  of  the 
guide  showed.  He  wants  my  life,  and  there's 
great  trouble  comin'  up.  I'm  hopin'  ye'll  soon 
get  your  sight,  for  by  now  there's  a  runner 
twenty  miles  into  the  hills  with  news  that  we're 
blind  in  the  church  at  Togiak.  Three  days  he'll 
be  goin',  and  on  the  fifth  ye'll  hear  the  jangle 
of  Russian  dog-bells.  He'll  kill  the  fastest 
team  in  Nushagak  in  the  comin',  and  God 
help  us  if  we're  here." 


238  PARDNERS 

George  scraped  a  bit  of  frost-lace  from  the 
lone  window  pane.  Dark  figures  moved  over 
the  snow,  circling  the  chapel,  and  he  knew 
that  each  was  armed.  Only  their  reverence  for 
the  church  held  them  from  doing  the  task  set 
by  Orloff,  and  he  sighed  as  he  changed  the 
bandages  on  his  suffering  mate. 

They  awoke  the  next  morning  to  the  moan 
of  wind  and  the  sift  of  snow  clouds  past  their 
walls.  Staring  through  his  peep-hole,  George 
distinguished  only  a  seethe  of  whirling  flakes 
that  greyed  the  view,  blotting  even  the  neigh 
bouring  huts,  and  when  the  early  evening 
brought  a  rising  note  in  the  storm  the  trouble 
lifted  from  his  face. 

"A  three-day  blizzard,"  he  rejoiced,  "and 
the  strongest  team  on  the  coast  can't  wallow 
through  it  under  a  week.  These  on-shore  gales 
is  beauts." 

For  three  days  the  wind  tore  from  off  the 
sea  into  the  open  bight  at  whose  head  lay 
Togiak,  and  its  violence  wrecked  the  armour 
of  shore  ice  in  the  bay  till  it  beat  and  roared 


Where  Northern  Lights  Come  Down  239 

against  the  spit,  a  threshing  maelstrom  of 
shattered  bergs.  The  waters  piled  into  the  in 
let  driven  by  the  lash  of  the  storm  till  they 
overflowed  the  river  ice  behind  the  village, 
submerging  and  breaking  it  into  ragged,  dan 
gerous  confusion. 

On  the  third  day,  with  Arctic  vagary,  the 
wind  gasped  reluctantly  and  scurried  over  the 
range.  In  its  wake  the  surging  ocean  churned 
loudly  and  the  back-water  behind  the  town, 
held  by  the  dam  of  freezing  slush-ice  at  the 
river  mouth,  was  skimmed  by  a  thin  ice-paper, 
pierced  here  and  there  by  the  up-ended  piles 
from  beneath.  This  held  the  night's  snow,  so 
that  morning  showed  the  village  girt  on  three 
sides  by  a  stream  soft-carpeted  and  safe  to  the 
eye,  but  failing  beneath  the  feet  of  a  child. 

'You're    eyes    are    comin'    along    mighty 
slow,"  worried  George.  "I'm  hopin'  his  rev 
erence  is  up  to  his  gills  in  drifts  back  yonder. 
We  must  leave  him  a  sled  trail  for  a  souvenir." 
"  How  can  we,  with  the  place  guarded  ?  " 
"Hitch  the  dogs  and  run  for  it  by  night. 


240  PARDNERS 

He'll  burn  us  out  when  he  comes.  Fine  targets 
we'd  make  on  the  snow  by  the  light  of  a  burn 
ing  shack.  If  ye  can  see  to  shoot  we'll  go  to 
night.  Hello!  What's  that?" 

Outside  came  the  howl  of  malamoots  and 
the  cry  of  men.  Leaping  to  the  window,  George 
rubbed  it  free  and  stared  into  the  sunshine. 

"Too  late!  Too  late!"  he  said.  "Here  he 
comes!  It's  time  I  killed  him."  He  spoke  grat 
ingly,  with  the  dull  anger  of  years. 

On  the  bright  surface  of  the  opposite  hill 
side  a  sled  bearing  a  muffled  figure  appeared 
silhouetted  against  the  glisten  of  the  crust.  Its 
team,  maddened  by  the  village  scent,  poured 
down  the  incline  toward  the  river  bank  and  the 
guide  swung  onto  the  runners  behind,  while 
the  voice  of  the  people  rose  to  their  priest.  In  a 
whirl  of  soft  snow  they  drove  down  onto  the 
treachery  of  the  ice.  The  screams  of  the  natives 
frenzied  the  pack  and  they  rioted  out  onto  the 
bending  sheet,  while  the  long  sledge,  borne 
by  its  momentum,  shot  forward  till  the  split 
ting  cry  of  the  ice  sounded  over  the  lamenta- 


Where  Northern  Lights  Come  Down 
tions.  It  slackened,  sagged  and  disappeared 
in  a  surge  of  congealing  waters.  The  wheel 
dogs  were  dragged  into  the  opening  and  their 
mates  ahead  jerked  backward  onto  them.  In  a 
fighting  tangle,  all  settled  into  the  swirl. 

Orloff  leaped  from  the  sinking  sled,  but 
hindered  by  his  fur  swaddling,  crashed  through 
and  lunged  heavily  in  his  struggles  to  mount 
the  edge  of  the  film.  As  he  floundered  onto  the 
caving  surface  it  let  him  back  and  the  waters 
covered  him  time  and  again.  He  pitched  oddly 
about,  and  for  the  first  time  they  saw  his  eyes 
were  bound  tightly  with  bandages,  which  he 
strove  to  loosen. 

"My  God!  He's  snow-blind!"  cried  George, 
and  in  a  moment  he  appeared  among  the 
frantic  mob  fringing  the  shore. 

The  guide  broke  his  way  toward  a  hum 
mock  of  old  ice  forming  an  islet  near  by,  and 
the  priest  half  swam,  half  scrambled  behind, 
till  they  crawled  out  upon  this  solid  footing. 
Here  the  wintry  wind  searched  them  and  their 
dripping  clothes  stiffened  quickly.  Orloff  drag- 


PARDNERS 

ged  the  strips  from  his  face,  and  as  the  sun 
glitter  pierced  his  eyes  he  writhed  as  though 
seared  by  the  naked  touch  of  hot  steel. 

He  shouted  affrightedly  in  his  blindness,  but 
the  mocking  voice  of  Big  George  answered 
him  and  he  cowered  at  the  malevolence  in  the 
words.  ' 

"Here  I  am,  Orloff.  It's  help  ye  want,  is  it  ? 
I'll  shoot  the  man  that  tries  to  reach  ye.  Ha, 
ha!  You're  freezin'  eh?  Georgie  will  talk  to 
keep  ye  awake.  A  dirty  trick  of  the  river  to 
cheat  me  so.  I've  fattened  for  years  on  the  hope 
of  stampin'  your  life  out  and  now  it's  robbed 
me.  But  I'll  stick  till  ye're  safe  in  Hell." 

The  man  cried  piteously,  turning  his  bleared 
eyes  toward  the  sound. 

"Shoot,  why  don't  you,  and  end  it?  Can't 
you  see  we're  freezing?"  He  stood  up  in  his 
carapace  of  stiffened  clothes,  shivering  pal- 
siedly. 

"The  truest  thing  ye  ever  said,"  cried 
George,  and  he  swung  his  colts  into  view. 
"It'll  favour  you  and  I'll  keep  my  vow."  He 


Where  Northern  Lights  Come  Down    243 

raised  the  gun.  The  splashing  of  the  distant 
dogs  broke  the  silence.  A  native  knelt  stiffly. 

"George!  George!"  Captain  had  stumbled 
down  among  them  and  plucked  at  his  arm, 
peering  dimly  into  his  distorted  face.  "Great 
God,  are  you  a  murderer  ?  They'll  be  dead  be 
fore  we  can  save  them."  <» 

"Save  'em?"  said  George,  while  reason 
fought  with  his  mania.  "Whose  goin'  to  save 
'em  ?  He  needs  killin'.  I'm  hungry  for  his  life." 

"He's  a  man,  George.  They're  both  human, 
and  they're  dying  in  sight  of  us.  Give  him  a 
chance.  Fight  like  a  man." 

As  he  spoke  the  fury  fell  away  from  the 
whaler  and  he  became  the  alert,  strong  man 
of  the  frontier,  knowing  the  quick  danger 
and  meeting  it. 

He  bellowed  at  the  natives  and  they  fled 
backward  before  his  voice,  storming  the 
cache  where  lay  the  big  skin  canoes.  They 
slid  one  down  and  seizing  paddles  crushed 
the  ice  around  it  till  it  floated,  then  supported 
by  the  prow,  George  stamped  the  ice  into 


244  PARDNERS 

fragments  ahead,  and  they  forced  their  way 
slowly  along  the  channel  he  made.  Soaked  to 
the  armpits  he  smashed  a  trail  through  which 
they  reached  the  hummock  where  the  others 
lay,  too  listless  for  action. 

At  the  shore  they  bore  the  priest  to  their 
shelter  while  the  guide  was  snatched  into  a 
near-by  hut.  They  hacked  off  his  brittle  clothes 
and  supported  him  to  the  bed.  As  he  walked 
his  feet  clattered  on  the  board  floor  like  the 
sound  of  wooden  shoes.  They  were  white  and 
solid,  as  were  his  hands. 

"He's  badly  frozen,"  whispered  Captain, 
"can  we  save  him  ?"  They  rubbed  and  thawed 
for  hours,  but  the  sluggish  blood  refused  to 
flow  into  the  extremities  and  Captain  felt  that 
this  man  would  die  for  lack  of  amputation. 

Through  all  the  Russian  was  silent,  gazing 
strangely  at  George. 

"  'Tis  no  use,"  finally  said  the  big  man,  de 
spairingly,  "I've  seen  too  many  of  'em;  we've 
done  our  best." 

He   disappeared,    and   there   sounded   the 


Where  Northern  Lights  Come  Down  245 
jingle  of  harness  as  the  dogs  were  hitched.  As 
he  entered  for  the  camp  outfit  Orloff  spoke: 

"  George  Brace,  I've  harmed  you  bitterly 
these  many  years,  and  you're  a  good  man  to 
help  me  so.  It's  no  use.  We  have  both  fought 
the  Cold  Death,  and  know  when  to  quit.  I 
came  here  to  kill  you,  but  you  will  go  out  across 
the  mountains  free,  while  I  rave  in  madness 
and  the  medicine  men  make  charms  over  me. 
When  you  come  into  Bethel  Mission  I'll  be 
dead.  Good-bye." 

"  Good  Hell!  We're  takin'  ye  to  Bethel  and  a 
doctor  in  ten  minutes.  A  week's  travel  as  the 
trail  goes,  but  we'll  save  a  chunk  of  ye  yet,  old 


man.' 


Five  days  later  a  broken  team  crawled  over 
the  snow  to  the  Moravian  Mission,  urged  by 
two  men  gaunt  from  the  trail,  and  blistered  by 
the  cold.  From  the  sledge  came  shrieks  and 
throaty  mutterings,  horrid  gabblings  of  post- 
freezing  madness  and  Dr.  Forrest,  lifting  back 
the  robe,  found  Orloff  lashed  into  his  couch. 

"Five   days   from   Togiak.   Two   hundred 


246  PARDNERS 

miles  in  heavy  trails,"  explained  George 
wearily,  as  the  cries  of  the  maniac  dimmed  be 
hind  the  log  walls. 

Two  hours  later  Forrest  spoke  gravely  as 
they  nursed  their  frost  bites  in  his  room. 

"We  have  operated.  He  will  recover." 

"It's  a  sad,  sad  day,"  mourned  George.  "It 
just  takes  the  taste  out  of  everything  for  me. 
He's  a  cripple  now,  eh  ?" 

"Yes!  Helpless!  I  did  not  know  Father  Or- 
loff  had  many  —  er  —  friends  hereabout," 
continued  the  doctor.  "He  was  thought  to  be 
hated  by  the  whites.  I'm  glad  the  report  was 
wrong. " 

"  Friends  be  damned, "  said  the  other  strong 
ly.  "What's  a  friend?  Ye  can  get  them  any 
place,  but  where  can  ye  find  another  enemy 
like  that  man  ? " 


THE  SCOURGE 


THE  SCOURGE 

Coming  down  coast  from  the  Kotzebue  country 
they  stumbled  onto  the  little  camp  in  the  early 
winter,  and  as  there  was  food  a  plenty,  of  its 
kind,  whereas  they  had  subsisted  for  some  days 
on  puree  of  seal  oil  and  short  ribs  of  dog,  Cap 
tain  and  Big  George  decided  to  winter.  A  max 
im  of  the  north  teaches  to  cabin  by  a  grub-pile. 

It  was  an  odd  village  they  beheld  that  first 
day.  Instead  of  the  clean  moss-chinked  log 
shelters  men  were  wont  to  build  in  this  land, 
they  found  the  community  housed  like  mar 
mots  in  holes  and  burrows. 

It  seemed  that  the  troop  had  landed,  fresh 
from  the  States,  a  hundred  and  a  quarter 
strong,  hot  with  the  lust  for  gold,  yet  shaken  by 
the  newspaper  horrors  of  Alaska's  rigorous 
hardships  and  forbidding  climate. 


250  PARDNERS 

Debouching  in  the  early  fall,  they  had  hastily 
prepared  for  an  Associated  Press-painted  Arc 
tic  winter. 

Had  they  been  forced  to  winter  in  the  moun 
tains  of  Idaho,  or  among  Montana's  passes, 
they  would  have  prepared  simply  and  effect 
ively.  Here,  however,  in  a  mystic  land,  sur 
rounded  by  the  unknown,  they  grew  panic 
stricken  and  lost  their  wits. 

Thus,  when  the  two  "  old  timers  "  came  upon 
them  in  the  early  winter  they  found  them  in 
bomb-proof  hovels,  sunk  into  the  muck,  bank 
ed  with  log  walls,  and  thatched  over  with  dirt 
and  sod. 

"Where  are  your  windows  and  ventilators  ?" 
they  were  asked,  and  collectively  the  camp 
laughed  at  the  question.  They  knew  how  to 
keep  snug  and  warm  even  if  half-witted  "  sour 
doughs"  didn't.  They  weren't  taking  any 
chances  on  freezing,  not  on  your  tin-type,  no 
outdoor  work  and  exposure  for  them! 

As  the  winter  settled,  they  snuggled  back, 
ate  three  meals  and  more  daily  of  bacon,  beans, 


The  Scourge  251 

and  baking-powder  bread;  playing  cribbage  for 
an  appetite.  They  undertook  no  exercise  more 
violent  than  seven-up,  while  the  wood-cutting 
fell  as  a  curse  upon  those  unfortunates  who  lost 
at  the  game.  They  giggled  at  Captain  and  the 
big  whaler  who  daily,  snow  or  blow,  hit  the 
trail  or  wielded  pick  and  shovel. 

However,  as  the  two  maintained  their  prac 
tice,  the  camp  grew  to  resent  their  industry, 
and,  as  is  possible  only  in  utterly  idle  commu 
nities,  there  sprung  up  a  virulence  totally  out  of 
proportion,  and,  founded  without  reason,  most 
difficult  to  dispel.  Before  they  knew  it,  the  two 
were  disliked  and  distrusted;  their  presence 
ignored;  their  society  shunned. 

Captain  had  talked  to  many  in  the  camp. 

"You'll  get  scurvy,  sure,  living  in  these  dark 
houses.  They're  damp  and  dirty,  and  you  don't 
exercise.  Besides,  there  isn't  a  pound  of  fresh 
grub  in  camp." 

Figuratively,  the  camp's  nose  had  tilted  at 
this,  and  it  stated  pompously  that  it  were  bet 
ter  to  preserve  its  classic  purity  of  features  and 


PARDNERS 

pro  rata  of  toes,  than  to  jeopardize  these  ad 
juncts  through  fear  of  a  possible  blood  disease. 

"Blood  disease,  eh?"  George  snorted  like  a 
sea-lion.  "Wait  till  your  legs  get  black  and  you 
spit  your  teeth  out  like  plum-pits  —  mebbe 
you'll  listen  then.  It'll  come,  see  if  it  don't. " 

He  was  right.  Yet  when  the  plague  did  grip 
the  camp  and  men  died,  one  in  five,  they  failed 
to  rise  to  it.  Instead  of  fighting  manfully  they 
lapsed  into  a  frightened,  stubborn  coma. 

There  was  one,  and  only  one,  who  did  not. 
Klusky  the  Jew;  Klusky  the  pariah.  They  said 
he  worked  just  to  be  ornery  and  different  from 
the  rest,  he  hated  them  so.  They  enjoyed  bait 
ing  him  to  witness  his  fury.  It  sated  that  taint 
of  Roman  cruelty  inherent  in  the  man  of  ignor 
ance.  He  was  all  the  amusement  they  had,  for 
it  wasn't  policy  to  stir  up  the  two  others  — 
they  might  slop  over  and  clean  up  the  village. 
So  they  continued  to  goad  him  as  they  had 
done  since  leaving  'Frisco.  They  gibed  and 
jeered  till  he  shunned  them,  living  alone  in  the 
fringe  of  the  pines,  bitter  and  vicious,  as  an  out- 


The  Scourge  253 

cast  from  the  pack  will  grow,  whether  human 
or  lupine.  He  frequented  only  the  house  of 
Captain  and  George,  because  they  were  exiles 
like  himself. 

The  partners  did  not  relish  this  overmuch, 
for  he  was  an  odious  being,  avaricious,  carping, 
and  dirty. 

"His  face  reminds  me  of  a  tool,"  said 
George,  once,  "nose  an'  chin  shuts  up  like 
calipers.  He's  got  the  forehead  of  a  salmon 
trout,  an'  his  chin  don't  retreat,  it  stampedes, 
plumb  down  ag'in  his  apple.  Look  out  for  that 
droop  of  the  mouth.  I've  seen  it  before,  an'  his 
eyes  is  bad,  too.  They've  stirred  him  up  an' 
pickled  all  the  good  he  ever  had.  Some  day  he'll 
do  a  murder." 

"I  wonder  what  he  means  by  always  saying 
he'll  have  revenge  before  spring.  It  makes  me 
creep  to  hear  him  cackle  and  gloat.  I  think  he's 
going  crazy." 

"Can't  tell.  This  bunch  would  bust  any 
body's  mental  tugs,  an'  they  make  a  mistake 
drivin'  him  so.  Say!  How's  my  gums  look  to- 


254  PARDNERS 

night?"  George  stretched  his  lips  back,  show 
ing  his  teeth,  while  Captain  made  careful  ex 
amination. 

"All  right.  How  are  mine?" 

"Red  as  a  berry." 

Every  day  they  searched  thus  for  the  symp 
toms,  looking  for  discolouration,  and  anxiously 
watching  bruises  on  limb  or  body.  Men  live  in 
fear  when  their  comrades  vanish  silently  from 
their  midst.  Each  night  upon  retiring  they  felt 
legs  nervously,  punching  here  and  there  to  see 
that  the  flesh  retained  its  resiliency. 

So  insidious  is  the  malady's  approach  that  it 
may  be  detected  only  thus.  A  lassitude  perhaps, 
a  rheumatic  laziness,  or  pains  and  swelling  at 
the  joints.  Mayhap  one  notes  a  putty-like  soft 
ness  of  the  lower  limbs.  Where  he  presses,  the 
finger  mark  remains,  filling  up  sluggishly.  No 
mental  depression  at  first,  nor  fever,  only  a 
drooping  ambition,  fatigue,  enlarging  parts, 
now  gradual,  now  sudden. 

The  grim  humour  of  seeing  grown  men 
gravely  poking  their  legs  with  rigid  digits,  or 


The  Scourge  255 

grinning  anxiously  into  hand-mirrors  had 
struck  some  of  the  tenderfeet  at  first,  but  the 
implacable  progress  of  the  disease;  its  black, 
merciless  presence,  pausing  destructively  here 
and  there,  had  terrorized  them  into  a  hopeless 
fatalism  till  they  cowered  helplessly,  awaiting 
its  touch. 

One  night  Captain  announced  to  his  part 
ner.  "I'm  going  over  to  the  Frenchmen's,  I 
hear  Menard  is  down." 

"What's  the  use  of  buttin'  in  where  ye  ain't 
wanted  ?  As  f er  me,  them  frogeaters  can  all  die 
like  salmon;  I  won't  go  nigh  'em  an'  I've  told 
'em  so.  I  give  'em  good  advice,  an'  what'd  I 
get?  What'd  that  daffy  doctor  do?  Pooh- 
poohed  at  me  an'  physiced  them.  Lord!  Physic 
a  man  with  scurvy  —  might  as  well  bleed  a 
patient  fer  amputation."  George  spoke  with 
considerable  heat. 

Captain  pulled  his  parka  hood  well  down  so 
that  the  fox-tails  around  the  edge  protected  his 
features,  and  stepped  out  into  the  evening.  He 
had  made  several  such  trips  in  the  past  few 


256  PARDNERS 

months  to  call  on  men  smitten  with  the  sick 
ness,  but  all  to  no  effect.  Being  "chechakos" 
they  were  supreme  in  their  conceit,  and  refused 
to  heed  his  advice. 

Returning  at  bed  time  he  found  his  partner 
webbing  a  pair  of  snow-shoes  by  the  light  of  a 
stinking  "go-devil,"  consisting  of  a  string  sus 
pended  in  a  can  of  molten  grease.  The  camp 
had  sold  them  grub,  but  refused  the  luxury  of 
candles.  Noting  his  gravity,  George  questioned : 

"Well,  how's  Menard?" 

"Dead!"  Captain  shook  himself  as  though 
at  the  memory.  "It  was  awful.  He  died  while  I 
was  talking  to  him." 

"Don't  say!  How's  that?" 

"I  found  him  propped  up  in  a  chair.  He 
looked  bad,  but  said  he  was  feeling  fine  — 

"That's  the  way  they  go.  I've  seen  it  many  a 
time  —  feelin'  fine  plumb  to  the  last. " 

"He'd  been  telling  me  about  a  bet  he  had 
with  Promont.  Promont  was  taken  last  week, 
too,  you  know,  same  time.  Menard  bet  him 
twenty  dollars  that  he'd  outlast  him." 


The  Scourge  257 

"'I'm  getting  all  right,'  says  he,  'but  poor 
Promont's  going  to  die.  I'll  get  his  twenty, 
sure!'  I  turned  to  josh  with  the  boy  a  bit,  an' 
when  I  spoke  to  Menard  he  didn't  answer.  His 
jaw  had  sagged  and  he'd  settled  in  his  chair. 
Promont  saw  it,  too,  and  cackled.  'H'l  'ave 
win  de  bet!  H'lj  'ave  win  de  bet!'  That's  all.  He 
just  slid  off.  Gee!  It  was  horrible." 

George  put  by  his  work  and  swore,  pacing 
the  rough  pole  floor. 

"Oh,  the  cussed  fools!  That  makes  six  dead 
from  the  one  cabin  —  six  from  eighteen,  an' 
Promont'll  make  seven  to-morrow.  Do  ye  mind 
how  we  begged  'em  to  quit  that  dug-out  an' 
build  a  white  man's  house,  an'  drink  spruce 
tea,  an'  work  ?  They're  too  —  lazy.  They  lie 
around  in  that  hole,  breath  bad  air,  an'  rot." 

"And  just  to  think,  if  we  only  had  a  crate  of 
potatoes  in  camp  we  could  save  every  man  jack 
of  'em.  Lord!  They  never  even  brought  no 
citric  acid  nor  lime  juice  —  nothin' !  If  we 
hadn't  lost  our  grub  when  the  whale-boat  up 
set,  eh?  That  ten-gallon  keg  of  booze  would 


£58  PARDNERS 

help  some.  Say!  I  got  such  a  thirst  I  don't 
never  expect  to  squench  it  proper;"  he  spoke 
plaintively. 

"Klusky  was  here  again  while  you  was  gone, 
too.  I  itch  to  choke  that  Jew  whenever  he  gets 
to  ravin'  over  these  people.  He's  sure  losin'  his 
paystreak.  He  gritted  his  teeth  an'  foamed  like 
a  mad  malamoot,  I  never  see  a  low-downer 
lookin'  aspect  than  him  when  he  gets  mad." 
"I'll  make  'em  come  to  me,'  says  he,  'on 
their  bellies  beggin'.  It  ain't  time  yet.  Oh,  no! 
Wait  'till  half  of  'em  is  dead,  an'  the  rest  is  rot 
ten  with  scurvy.  Then  they'll  crawl  to  me  with 
their  gums  thick  and  black,  an'  their  flesh  like 
dough;  they'll  kiss  my  feet  an'  cry,  an'  I'll 
stamp  'em  into  the  snow !'  You'd  ought  a  heard 
him  laugh.  Some  day  I'm  goin'  to  lay  a  hand  on 
that  man,  right  in  my  own  house." 

As  they  prepared  for  bed,  Captain  remarked : 
"By  the  way,  speaking  of  potatoes,  I  heard 
to-night  that  there  was  a  crate  in  the  French 
men's  outfit  somewhere,  put  in  by  mistake, 
perhaps,  but  when  they  boated  their  stuff  up 


The  Scourge  259 

river  last  fall  it  couldn't  be  found  —  must  have 
been  lost." 

It  was  some  days  later  that,  returning  from 
a  gameless  hunt,  Captain  staggered  into  camp, 
weary  from  the  drag  of  his  snow-shoes. 

Throwing  himself  into  his  bunk  he  rested 
while  George  prepared  the  meagre  meal  of 
brown  beans,  fried  salt  pork,  and  sour-dough 
bread.  The  excellence  of  this  last,  due  to  the 
whaler's  years  of  practice,  did  much  to  miti 
gate  the  unpleasantness  of  the  milkless,  but- 
terless,  sugarless  menu. 

Captain's  fatigue  prevented  notice  of  the 
other's  bearing.  However,  when  he  had  supped 
and  the  dishes  were  done  George  spoke,  quiet 
ly  and  without  emotion. 

"Well,  boy,  the  big  thing  has  come  off." 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

For  reply  he  took  the  grease  dip  and,  holding 
it  close,  bared  his  teeth. 

With  a  cry  Captain  leaped  from  his  bunk, 
and  took  his  face  between  his  hands. 

"Great  God!  George!" 


£60  PARbiVERS 

He  pushed  back  the  lips.  Livid  blotches  met 
his  gaze  —  the  gums  swollen  and  discoloured. 
He  dropped  back  sick  and  pale,  staring  at  his 
bulky  comrade,  dazed  and  uncomprehending. 

Carefully  replacing  the  lamp,  George  con 
tinued  : 

"  I  felt  it  comin'  quite  a  while  back,  pains  in 
my  knees  an'  all  that  —  thought  mebbe  you'd 
notice  me  hobblin'  about.  I  can't  git  around 
good  —  feel  sort  of  stove  up  an'  spavined  on 
my  feet." 

"Yes,  yes,  but  we've  lived  clean,  and  exer 
cised,  and  drank  spruce  tea,  and  —  every 
thing,"  cried  the  other. 

"I  know,  but  I've  had  a  touch  before;  it's 
in  my  blood  I  reckon.  Too  much  salt  grub;  too 
many  winters  on  the  coast.  She  never  took  me 
so  sudden  an'  vicious  though.  Guess  the  stuff's 
off." 

"Don't  talk  that  way/'  said  Captain,  sharp 
ly.  "You're  not  going  to  die  —  I  won't  let 
you." 

"Vat's  the  mattaire?"  came  a  leering  voice 


The  Scourge  261 

and,  turning  they  beheld  Klusky,  the  renegade. 
He  had  entered  silently,  as  usual,  and  now 
darted  shrewd  inquiring  glances  at  them. 

"George  has  the  scurvy." 

"  Oi !  Oi !  Oi !  Vat  a  peety. "  He  seemed  about 
to  say  more  but  refrained,  coming  forward  rub 
bing  his  hands  nervously. 

"It  ain't  possible  that  a  'sour  dough'  shall 
have  the  scoivy." 

"Well,  he  has  it  —  has  it  bad  but  I'll  cure 
him.  Yes,  and  I'll  save  this  whole  —  camp, 
whether  they  want  it  or  not."  Captain  spoke 
strongly,  his  jaws  set  with  determination. 
Klusky  regarded  him  narrowly  through  close 
shrunk  eyes,  while  speculation  wrinkled  his 
low  forehead. 

"Of  course!  Yes!  But  how  shall  it  be,  eh? 
Tell  me  that. "  His  eagerness  was  pronounced. 

"I'll  go  to  St.  Michaels  and  bring  back  fresh 
grub." 

"You  can't  do  it,  boy,"  said  George.  "It's 
too  far  an'  there  ain't  a  dog  in  camp.  You 
couldn't  haul  your  outfit  alone,  an'  long  before 


PARDNERS 

you'd  sledded  grub  back  I'd  be  wearin'  one  of 
them  gleamin'  orioles,  I  believe  that's  what 
they  call  it,  on  my  head,  like  the  pictures  of 
them  little  fat  angelettes.  I  ain't  got  no  ear  for 
music,  so  I'll  have  to  cut  out  the  harp  solos." 

"Quit  that  talk,  will  you  ?"  said  Captain  ir 
ritably.  "  Of  course,  one  man  can't  haul  an  out 
fit  that  far,  but  two  can,  so  I'm  going  to  take 
Klusky  with  me. "  He  spoke  with  finality,  and 
the  Jew  started,  gazing  queerly.  "We'll  go 
light,  and  drive  back  a  herd  of  reindeer." 

"By  thunder!  I'd  clean  forgot  the  reindeer. 
The  government  was  aimin'  to  start  a  post 
there  last  fall,  wasn't  it  ?  Say !  Mebbe  you  can 
make  it  after  all,  Kid. "  His  features  brighten 
ed  hopefully.  "What  d'  ye  say,  Klusky?" 

The  one  addressed  answered  nervously,  al 
most  with  excitement. 

"It  can't  be  done!  It  ain't  possible,  and  I 
ain't  strong  enough  to  pull  the  sled.  V'y  don't 
you  and  George  go  together.  I'll  stay  —  ' 

Captain  laid  a  heavy  hand  on  his  shoulder. 

"That'll  do.  What  are  you  talking  about? 


The  Scourge  263 

George  wouldn't  last  two  days,  and  you  know 
it.  Now  listen.  You  don't  have  to  go,  you  in 
fernal  greasy  dog,  there  are  others  in  camp, 
and  one  of  them  will  go  if  I  walk  him  at  the 
muzzle  of  a  gun.  I  gave  you  first  chance,  be 
cause  we've  been  good  to  you.  Now  get  out." 

He  snatched  him  from  his  seat  and  hurled 
him  at  the  door,  where  he  fell  in  a  heap. 

Klusky  arose,  and,  although  his  eyes  snap 
ped  wildly  and  he  trembled,  he  spoke  insidi 
ously,  with  oily  modulation. 

:<Vait  a  meenute,  Meestaire  Captain,  vait  a 
meenute.  I  didn't  say  I  vouldn't  go.  Oi!  Oi! 
Vat  a  man!  Shoor  I'll  go.  Coitenly!  You  have 
been  good  to  me  and  they  have  been  devils.  I 
hope  they  die. "  He  shook  a  bony  fist  in  the  di 
rection  of  the  camp,  while  his  voice  took  on  its 
fanatical  shrillness.  "  They  shall  be  in  h  —  be 
fore  I  help  them,  the  pigs,  but  you  —  ah,  you 
have  been  my  friends,  yes  ?" 

"All  right;  be  here  at  daylight,"  said  Cap 
tain  gruffly.  Anger  came  slowly  to  him,  and  its 
trace  was  even  slower  in  its  leaving. 


264  PARDNERS 

"I  don't  like  him,"  said  George,  when  he 
had  slunk  out.  "He  ain't  on  the  level.  Watch 
him  close,  boy,  he's  up  to  some  devilment. " 

"Keep  up  your  courage,  old  man.  I'll  be 
back  in  twelve  days."  Captain  said  it  with  de 
cision,  though  his  heart  sank  as  he  felt  the  un 
certainties  before  him. 

George  looked  squarely  into  his  eyes. 

"God  bless  ye,  boy,"  he  said.  "I've  cabined 
with  many  a  man,  but  never  one  like  you.  I'm 
a  hard  old  nut,  an'  I  ain't  worth  what  you're 
goin'  to  suffer,  but  mebbe  you  can  save  these 
other  idiots.  That's  what  we're  put  here  for,  to 
help  them  as  is  too  ornery  to  help  theirselves. " 
He  smiled  at  Captain,  and  the  young  man 
left  him  blindly.  He  seldom  smiled,  and  to 
see  it  now  made  his  partner's  breast  heave 
achingly. 

"Good  old  George!"  he  murmured  as  they 
pulled  out  upon  the  river.  "  Good  old  George!" 
As  they  passed  from  the  settlement  an  Indian 
came  to  the  door  of  the  last  hovel. 


The  Scourge  265 

"Hello.  There's  a  Siwash  in  your  cabin," 
said  Captain.  "What  is  he  doing  there?" 

"That's  all  right,"  rejoined  Klusky.  "I  told 
him  to  stay  and  vatch  t'ings. " 

"Rather  strange,"  thought  the  other.  "I 
wonder  what  there  is  to  watch.  There's  never 
been  any  stealing  around  here. " 

To  the  unversed,  a  march  by  sled  would 
seem  simplicity.  In  reality  there  is  no  more  dis 
couraging  test  than  to  hit  the  trail,  dogless  and 
by  strength  of  back.  The  human  biped  cannot 
drag  across  the  snow  for  any  distance  more 
than  its  own  weight;  hence  equipment  is  of  the 
simplest.  At  that,  the  sledge  rope  galls  one's 
neck  with  a  continual,  endless,  yielding  drag, 
resulting  in  back  pains  peculiar  to  itself.  It  is 
this  eternal  maddening  pull,  with  the  pitiful 
crawling  gait  that  tells;  horse's  labour  and  a 
snail's  pace.  The  toil  begets  a  perspiration 
which  the  cold  solidifies  midway  through  the 
garments.  At  every  pause  the  clammy  clothes 
grow  chill,  forcing  one  forward,  onward,  with 
sweating  body  and  freezing  face.  In  extreme 


266  PARDNERS 

cold,  snow  pulverizes  dryly  till  steel  runners 
drag  as  though  slid  through  sand.  Occasional 
overflows  bar  the  stream  from  bank  to  bank, 
resulting  in  wet  feet  and  quick  changes  by  has 
ty  fires  to  save  numb  toes.  Now  the  air  is  dead 
under  a  smother  of  falling  flakes  that  fluff  up 
ankle  deep,  knee  deep,  till  the  sled  plunges 
along  behind,  half  buried,  while  the  men  wal 
low  and  invent  ingenious  oaths.  Again  the  wind 
whirls  it  by  in  grotesque  goblin  shapes;  won 
derful  storm  beings,  writhing,  whipping,  biting 
as  they  pass;  erasing  bank  and  mountain.  Yet 
always  there  is  that  aching,  steady  tug  of  the 
shoulder-rope,  stopping  circulation  till  the 
arms  depend  numbly;  and  always  the  weary 
effort  of  trail  breaking. 

Captain  felt  that  he  had  never  worked  with  a 
more  unsatisfying  team  mate.  Not  that  Klusky 
did  not  pull,  he  evidently  did  his  best,  but  he 
never  spoke,  while  the  other  grew  ever  con 
scious  of  the  beady,  glittering  eyes  boring  into 
his  back.  At  camp,  the  Jew  watched  him  fur 
tively,  sullenly,  till  he  grew  to  feel  oppressed,  as 


The  Scourge  267 

with  a  sense  of  treachery,  or  some  fell  design 
hidden  far  back.  Every  morning  he  secured  the 
ropes  next  the  sled,  thus  forcing  Captain  to 
walk  ahead.  He  did  not  object  to  the  added 
task  of  breaking  trail,  for  he  had  expected  the 
brunt  of  the  work,  but  the  feeling  of  suspicion 
increased  till  it  was  only  by  conscious  effort 
that  he  drove  himself  to  turn  his  back  upon  the 
other  and  take  up  the  journey. 

It  was  this  oppression  that  warned  him  on 
the  third  day.  Leaning  as  he  did  against  the 
sled  ropes  he  became  aware  of  an  added 
burden,  as  though  the  man  behind  had  eased 
to  shift  his  harness.  When  it  did  not  cease  he 
glanced  over  his  shoulder.  Keyed  up  as  he  was 
this  nervous  agility  saved  him. 

Klusky  held  a  revolver  close  up  to  his  back, 
and,  though  he  had  unconsciously  failed  to 
pull,  he  mechanically  stepped  in  the  other's 
tracks.  The  courage  to  shoot  had  failed  him 
momentarily,  but  as  Captain  turned,  it  came, 
and  he  pulled  the  trigger. 

Frozen  gun  oil  has  caused  grave  errors  in 


268  PARDNERS 

calculation.  The  hammer  curled  back  wickedly 
and  stuck.  Waiting  his  chance  he  had  carried 
the  weapon  in  an  outer  pocket  where  the  frost 
had  stiffened  the  grease.  Had  it  been  warmed 
next  his  body,  the  fatal  check  would  not  have 
occurred.  Even  so,  he  pulled  again  and  it  ex 
ploded  sharp  and  deafening  in  the  rarefied 
morning  air.  In  that  instant's  pause,  however, 
Captain  had  whirled  so  that  the  bullet  tore 
through  the  loose  fur  beneath  his  arm.  He 
struck,  simultaneously  with  the  report,  and  the 
gun  flew  outward,  disappearing  in  the  snow. 

They  grappled  and  fell,  rolling  in  a  tangle  of 
rope,  Klusky  fighting  with  rat-like  fury,  whin 
ing  odd,  broken  curses.  The  larger  man  crush 
ed  him  in  silence,  beating  him  into  the  snow, 
bent  on  killing  him  with  his  hands. 

As  the  other's  struggles  diminished,  he  came 
to  himself,  however,  and  desisted. 

"I  can't  kill  him,"  he  thought  in  panic.  "I 
can't  go  on  alone. " 

"Get  up!"  He  kicked  the  bleeding  figure  till 
it  arose  lamely.  "Why  did  you  do  that?"  His 


The  Scourge  269 

desire  to  strangle  the  life  from  him  was  over 
powering. 

The  man  gave  no  answer,  muttering  only  un 
intelligible  jargon,  his  eyes  ablaze  with  hatred. 

"Tell  me."  He  shook  him  by  the  throat  but 
received  no  reply.  Nor  could  he,  try  as  he 
pleased;  only  a  stubborn  silence.  At  last,  dis 
gusted  and  baffled,  he  bade  him  resume  the  rope. 
It  was  necessary  to  use  force  for  this,  but  even 
tually  they  took  up  the  journey,  differing  now 
only  in  their  order  of  precedence. 

"If  you  make  a  move  I'll  knife  you,"  he 
cautioned  grimly.  "That  goes  for  the  whole 
trip,  too." 

At  evening  he  searched  the  grub  kit,  break 
ing  knives  and  forks,  and  those  articles  which 
might  be  used  as  means  of  offence,  throwing 
the  pieces  into  the  snow. 

"  Don't  stir  during  the  night,  or  I  might  kill 
you.  I  wake  easy,  and  hereafter  we'll  sleep  to 
gether."  Placing  the  weapons  within  his  shirt, 
he  bound  the  other's  wrists  and  rolled  up  be 
side  him. 


270  PARDNERS 

Along  the  coast,  their  going  became  difficult 
from  the  rough  ice  and  soft  snow,  and  with  de 
spair  Captain  felt  the  days  going  by.  Klusky 
maintained  his  muteness  and,  moreover,  to  the 
anger  of  his  captor,  began  to  shirk.  It  became 
necessary  to  beat  him.  This  Captain  did  relent 
lessly,  deriving  a  certain  satisfaction  from  it, 
yet  marvelling  the  while  at  his  own  cruelty. 
The  Jew  feigned  weariness,  and  began  to  limp 
as  though  foot-sore. 

Captain  halted  him  at  last. 

"Don't  try  that  game,"  he  said.  "It  don't 
go.  I  spared  your  life  for  a  purpose.  The  minute 
you  stop  pulling,  that  minute  I'll  sink  this  into 
your  ribs."  He  prodded  him  with  his  sheath 
knife.  "  Get  along  now,  or  I'll  make  you  haul  it 
alone."  He  kicked  him  into  resentful  motion 
again,  for  he  had  come  to  look  upon  him  as  an 
animal,  and  was  heedless  of  his  signs  of  torture 
—  so  thus  they  marched ;  master  and  slave. 
"He's  putting  it  on,"  he  thought,  but  abuse  as 
he  might,  the  other's  efforts  became  weaker, 
and  his  agony  more  marked  as  the  days  passed. 


The  Scourge  271 

The  morning  came  when  he  refused  to  arise. 

"Get  up!" 

Klusky  shook  his  head. 

"  Get  up,  I  say!"  Captain  spoke  fiercely,  and 
snatched  him  to  foot,  but  with  a  groan  the  man 
sank  back.  Then,  at  last,  he  talked. 

"I  can't  do  it.  I  can't  do  it.  My  legs  make 
like  they  von't  vork.  You  can  kill  me,  but  I 
can't  valk." 

As  he  ceased,  Captain  leaned  down  and 
pushed  back  his  lips.  The  teeth  were  loose  and 
the  gums  livid. 

"Great  Heavens,  what  have  I  done!  What 
have  I  done!"  he  muttered. 

Klusky  had  watched  his  face  closely. 

"Vat's  the  mattaire?  Vy  do  you  make  like 
that,  eh  ?  Tell  me."  His  voice  was  sharp. 

"You've  got  it." 

"I've  got  it?  Oi!  Oi!  I've  got  it!  Vat  have  I 
got?"  He  knew  before  the  answer  came,  but 
raved  and  cursed  in  frenzied  denial.  His  tongue 
started,  language  flowed  from  him  freely. 

"It  ain't  that.  No!  No!  It  is  the  rheumatis- 


PARDNERS 

sen.  Yes,  it  shall  be  so.  It  makes  like  that  from 
the  hard  vork  always.  It  is  the  cold  —  the  cold 
makes  it  like. " 

With  despair  Captain  realized  that  he  could 
neither  go  on,  dragging  the  sick  man  and  out 
fit,  nor  could  he  stay  here  in  idleness  to  sacri 
fice  the  precious  days  that  remained  to  his 
partner.  Each  one  he  lost  might  mean  life  or 
death. 

Klusky  broke  in  upon  him. 

'You  von't  leave  me,  Mistaire  Captain? 
Please  you  von't  go  avay?" 

Such  frightened  entreaty  lay  in  his  request 
that  before  thinking  the  other  replied. 

"No,  I  won't.  I  made  you  come  and  I'll  do 
all  I  can  for  you.  Maybe  somebody  will  pass. " 
He  said  it  only  to  cheer,  for  no  one  travelled 
this  miserable  stretch  save  scattering,  half- 
starved  Indians,  but  the  patient  caught  at  it 
eagerly,  hugging  the  hope  to  his  breast  during 
the  ensuing  days. 

That  vigil  beside  the  dying  creature  lived 
long  in  Captain's  memory.  The  bleak,  timber- 


The  Scourge  273 

less  shores  of  the  bay;  their  tiny  tent,  crouched 
fearfully  among  the  willow  tops;  the  silent 
nights,  when  in  the  clear,  cold  air  the  stars 
stared  at  him  close  and  big,  like  eyes  of  wolves 
beyond  a  camp  fire;  the  days  of  endless  gab- 
blings  from  the  sinking  man,  and  the  all  per 
vading  cold. 

At  last,  knowledge  dawned  upon  the  invalid, 
and  he  called  his  companion  to  his  side.  Shiv 
ering  there  beneath  the  thin  tent,  Captain 
heard  a  story,  rambling  at  first,  filled  with 
hatred  and  bitterness  toward  the  men  who  had 
scoffed  at  him,  yet  at  the  last  he  listened  eager 
ly,  amazedly,  and  upon  its  conclusion  rose 
suddenly,  gazing  at  the  dying  man  in  horror. 

"My  God,  Klusky!  Hell  isn't  black  enough 
for  you.  It  can't  be  true,  it  can't  be.  You're 
raving!  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  you  let  those 
poor  devils  die  like  rats  while  you  had  pota 
toes  in  your  cabin,  fresh  ones  ?  Man !  Man !  The 
juice  of  every  potato  was  worth  a  life.  You're 
lying,  Klusky." 

"I  ain't.  No,  I  ain't.  I  hate  them!  I  said 


274  PARDNERS 

they  should  crawl  on  their  bellies  to  me.  Yes, 
and  I  should  wring  the  money  out.  A  hundred 
dollars  for  von  potato.  I  stole  them  all.  Ha!  ha! 
and  I  kept  them  varm.  Oh,  yes!  Alvays  varm 
by  the  fire,  so  they  shall  be  good  and  fine  for 
the  day." 

"That's  why  you  left  the  Indian  there  when 
we  came  away,  eh ?  To  keep  a  fire." 

"  Shoor !  and  I  thought  I  shall  kill  you  and  go 
back  alone  so  nobody  shall  make  for  the  rescue. 
Then  I  should  have  the  great  laugh." 

Captain  bared  his  head  to  the  cold  outside 
the  tent.  He  was  dazed  by  the  thought  of  it. 
The  man  was  crazed  by  abuse.  The  camp  had 
paid  for  its  folly ! 

Then  a  hope  sprang  up  in  him.  It  was  too  late 
to  go  on  and  return  with  the  deer;  that  is,  too 
late  for  George,  and  he  thought  only  of  him ;  of 
the  big,  brave  man  sitting  alone  jn  the  cabin, 
shunned  by  the  others,  waiting  quietly  for  his 
coming,  tracing  the  relentless  daily  march  of 
the  disease.  Why  didn't  the  Jew  die  so  he  could 
flee  back  ?  He  had  promised  not  to  desert  him, 


The  Scourge  275 

and  he  could  not  break  his  word  to  a  dying 
man,  even  though  the  wretch  deserved  dam 
nation.  But  why  couldn't  he  die  ?  What  made 
him  hang  on  so  ?  In  his  idle  hours  he  arranged 
a  pack  for  the  start,  assembling  his  rations.  He 
could  not  be  hampered  by  the  sled.  This  was  to 
be  a  race  —  he  must  travel  long  and  fast.  The 
sick  man  saw  the  preparations,  and  cried 
weakly,  the  tears  freezing  on  his  cheeks,  and 
still  he  lingered,  lingered  maddeningly,  till  at 
last,  when  Captain  had  lost  count  of  the  days,  he 
passed  without  a  twitch  and,  before  the  body 
had  cooled,  the  northward  bluffs  hid  the  plod 
ding,  snow-shoed  figure  hurrying  along  the 
back  trail. 

He  scarcely  stopped  for  sleep  or  food,  but 
gnawed  raw  bacon  and  frozen  bread,  swinging 
from  shoe  to  shoe,  devouring  distance  with  the 
steady,  rhythmic  pace  of  a  machine.  He  made  no 
fires.  As  darkness  settled,  rendering  progress  a 
peril,  he  unrolled  his  robe,  and  burrowed  into 
some  overhanging  drift,  and  the  earliest  hint  of 
dawn  found  him  miles  onward. 


276  PARDNERS 

Though  the  weather  was  clear,  he  grew 
numbed  and  careless  under  the  strain  of  his 
fatigue,  so  that  the  frost  bit  hungrily  at  his 
features.  He  grew  gaunt,  and  his  feet  swelled 
from  the  snow-shoe  thongs  till  they  puffed  out 
his  loose,  sealskin  boots,  and  every  step  in  the 
morning  hours  brought  forth  a  groan. 

He  was  tortured  by  the  thought  that  per 
haps  the  Indian  had  carelessly  let  go  the  fire  in 
Klusky's  cabin.  If  so,  the  precious  potatoes 
would  freeze  in  a  night.  Then,  if  the  native  re 
built  it,  he  would  arrive  only  to  find  a  mushy, 
putrifying  mass,  worse  than  useless.  The  un 
certainty  sickened  him,  and  at  last,  as  he  sight 
ed  the  little  hamlet,  he  paused,  bracing  his  legs 
apart  weakly.  * 

He  searched  fearfully  for  traces  of  smoke 
above  Klusky's  cabin.  There  were  none. 
Somehow  the  lone  shack  seemed  to  stare  ma 
lignantly  at  him,  as  he  staggered  up  the  trail, 
and  he  heard  himself  muttering.  There  were  no 
locks  in  this  land,  so  he  entered  unbidden.  The 
place  was  empty,  though  warm  from  recent 


The  Scourge  277 

habitation.  With  his  remaining  strength  he 
scrambled  up  a  rude  ladder  to  the  loft  where  he 
fumbled  in  the  dark  while  his  heart  stopped. 
Then  he  cried  hoarsely  and,  ripping  open  the 
box,  stuffed  them  gloatingly  into  pockets  and 
shirt  front.  He  dropped  from  the  platform  and 
fled  out  through  the  open  door,  capless  and 
mittenless ;  out  and  on  toward  the  village. 

His  pace  slackened  suddenly,  for  he  noted 
with  a  shock  that,  like  Klusky's  cabin,  no 
smoke  drifted  over  the  house  toward  which  he 
ran,  and,  drawing  near,  he  saw  that  snow  lay 
before  the  door;  clean,  white,  and  untrodden. 
He  was  too  dazed  to  recall  the  light  fall  of  the 
night  previous,  but  glared  blankly  at  the  idle 
pipe;  at  the  cold  and  desolate  front. 

"Too  late!"  he  murmured  brokenly.  "Too 
late!"  and  stumbled  to  the  snow-cushioned 
chopping  block. 

He  dared  not  go  in.  Evidently  the  camp  had 
let  George  die;  had  never  come  near  to  lift  a 
hand.  He  was  afraid  of  what  lay  within,  afraid 
to  face  it  alone.  Yet  a  dreadful  need  to  know 


278  GARDNERS 

pulled  him  forward.  Three  times  he  approached 
the  door,  retreating  each  time  in  panic.  At  last 
he  laid  soft  hands  upon  the  latch  and  entered, 
averting  his  eyes.  Even  so,  and  despite  the 
darkness  inside,  he  was  conscious  of  it;  saw 
from  his  eye  corners  the  big,  still  bulk  that  sat 
wrapped  and  propped  in  the  chair  by  the  table. 
He  sensed  it  dazedly,  inductively,  and  turned 
to  flee,  then  paused. 

"Ye  made  it,  boy!  It's  the  twelfth  to-day." 
George's  voice  came  weakly,  and  with  a  great 
cry  Captain  sprang  to  him. 

"Bout  all  in,"  the  other  continued.  "Ain't 
been  on  my  feet  for  two  days.  I  knowed  you'd 
come  to-day,  though;  it's  the  twelfth. 

Captain  made  no  reply,  for  he  had  knelt,  his 
face  buried  in  the  big  man's  lap,  his  shoulders 
heaving,  while  he  cried  like  a  little  boy. 

THE  END 


—  ra  THJE  ON  JCKBJLAST  DATE 
AN  INITIAL  FINE  OF  25  CENTS 

WILL  BE  ASSESSED  FOR  FAILURE  TO  RETURN 
THIS  BOOK  ON  THE  DATE  DUE.  THE  PENALTY 
WILL  INCREASE  TO  SO  CENTS  ON  THE  FOURTH 
DAY  AND  TO  $1.OO  ON  THE  SEVENTH  DAY 
OVERDUE. 


P.EC.CIR 


AUG   12  1944 


m  s 


%\  \  V- 

«p 

•  -    :  : 


• 


LOAN  D^PT. 


-MA& 


Qp 


NOVH1983 


LD  21-100m-7, '40 (6936s) 


Beach,    R.B 

P 

Gardners 

NOV  22TWI 

-.if  1  1  iftfit. 

106  1  ?  JS44 

IN 

JUis 

|LCr   JLJL'jfViU 

B12//I-944  / 

>^~ 

RH8983 


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